


The Truth's in the Box

by WeLiveAndBreatheWords



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Agatha is nice, Baz is oblivious to Simon's changing feelings, Dev is a not so secret sweetheart, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, He's also a english lit nerd, M/M, Penny / Dev friendship makes a formidable team, Penny Is A Badass, Simon is a science nerd, Slow Burn, Watford Seventh Year, Who is done with everyone's shit, Written around the fangirl extract on the balcony, and teams up with Penny, begins with simon and agatha dating, cool magic boxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeLiveAndBreatheWords/pseuds/WeLiveAndBreatheWords
Summary: 'Penny had never foreseen a day where she would feel sorry for a Pitch; they were all fire and smoke, laughing as the word around them burnt. But that day had come, for yes, Baz was fire, but Penny was pretty sure the only person burning was himself.'She was sick of looking up that prophecy like it was an instruction manual for their lives. She was sick of Simon's discontent, of Agatha's unhappiness, of the whole wretched circus.She was particularly sick of the boy on the balcony, looking out at the person he was hopelessly in love with but would never try to have. As if he were condemned to forever be the antagonist in somebody else's love story.So, she decided to do something about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will update two times a week, potentially more. This chapter features the extract from Fangirl that this fic grew from.

**Penny:**

He was up there again. On the balcony, watching. Penny had never foreseen a day where she would feel sorry for a Pitch; they were all fire and smoke, laughing as the word around them burnt. But that day had come, for yes, Baz was a fire, but Penny was pretty sure the only person burning was himself.

The boy’s glance devoured the scene in front of him, and a strange part of her wanted to cover his eyes. Tell him that there was no point looking, for the images he saw would only cause him hurt. But Baz, whatever his faults, wasn’t stupid; he must’ve known that getting over Simon would be the best course of action.

It had been months since she’d noticed all this. How long had it been since it began? For Baz?

The subtle stares of longing disguised as hatred, the dropping of the façade as soon as Simon looked away.

Baz was nothing if not practical, so why had his… _infatuation_ not been cut off? (Penny didn’t want to call it love.) (Morgana, she hoped it wasn’t love.)

For a fire to burn, you need to feed it air, otherwise the flames extinguish.

Perhaps, in his own special way, her best friend had been encouraging the blaze? Was he breathing life into Baz’s crush and not even realising? It must be exhausting, trying to be perfect all the time. Simon held himself so rigid with Agatha, so desperate to play the hero everyone thought he should be. It was possible that Baz was his exhale. His one semblance of truth. Not in action, but in unexplored, unthinkable emotion.

Simon could feel something without even knowing it. Baz could latch onto that hint of feeling, that unknown, whilst remaining equally as ignorant, for in realistic terms, it appeared Simon hated him.

It was time to do some investigating.

***

**Baz:**

There was no way Snow would see him here, up on the balcony. Snow was too busy trying to learn his steps for the ball. Too busy stamping all over Agatha’s silk boots. She looked lovely today – all golden white hair and creamy pink skin. _That girl is opaque_ , Baz thought. _Like milk. Like white glass._

Simon took a bad step forward, and she lost her balance. He caught her with a strong arm around her waist.

_Don’t they just shine together? Weren’t they every shade of white and gold?_

“He’ll never give her up, you know.”

Baz wanted to whip around at her voice, but he caught himself. Didn’t even turn his head. “Hello Penelope.”

‘You’re wasting your time,” She said, and damned if she didn’t sound tired. “He thinks she’s his destiny – he can’t help himself.”

“I know,” said Baz, turning into the shadows. “Neither can I.”

**Penelope:**

Clearly, that statement was supposed to go unanswered, unquestioned. In her limited life experience, Penny had learnt that when people make sweeping statements dripping with love and anguish, normally they want them to hang in the air. They want their words to rupture the earth, to create the same amount of impact as the love itself was having on them.

But the thing was, Penny had never been very good at following any kind of social expectation.

“That’s… _interesting._ ” She said, with what she hoped was an incomprehensible look.

Baz, who until that point had still been looking out towards Simon, turned to her.

His face told two tales. One: that he did not care what she thought, didn’t care what happened, didn’t give any fucks about anything in the world. But the second tale, she sensed, was more accurate. If you really looked at Baz, it was like you could peel back that layer of disregard and see him for what he truly felt: Basilton Grimm-Pitch, despite everything, cared. The pain of unrequired love makes no exceptions, not even for dead vampires.

_Ah_ , Penny thought, _so this is what a boy looks like when he feels everything; he spends all his wishes on hoping he could feel nothing at all._

She was damn tired. Tired of caring about who came from what family, of constantly looking over her shoulder. Tired of looking up that prophecy as if it was an instruction manual for her life.

She joined Baz, looking out at Simon from the tower.

If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked pretty tired too.

Penny had made her decision.

“You have never struck me as a man full of hope, Basilton.”

**Baz:**

He was going to kill her. Hurt her at least, and then his last act upon this earth would be an act of violence that wasn’t even _planned_ \- his family would be so ashamed.

Pitches, despite their reputation, don’t love violence. They just aren’t strangers to including it in their well thought out strategies.

So yes, his family would be disgusted with him, and he would be dead (well, even more dead) because if he lay a finger on Bunce, Snow would be sure to kill him.

The chosen one would kill him for talking to his best friend about unreturned, unpractical love.

Love directed at him.

Baz was sure there was some poetic meaning behind that.

But still. He was not about to be mocked by a Bunce. A Snow loving Bunce at that, whom had never appeared cruel to him until now.

“A man full of _hope_?” He said, his voice void of the anger he felt. “Really, that’s what you’re going with? I already knew we were enemies’ Bunce, there no need for mocking confirmation. Plus, if you can’t tell, I’m really not in the mood for banterous exchanges right now. So, can you get the fuck away from me before I give into the urge to hit you?”

He hated himself as soon as he said it. To concede, even a little, to weakness was not the Pitch way. Especially when you’re right in front of a possible assailant.

“Oh please,” said Bunce, who had clearly not understood the _I will hit you_ comment, nor the _I hate you_ subtext, “We’re not enemies. Whatever this ridiculous feud is, it’s between you and Simon, not you and me.” She paused, considering. “And now, in the light of recent information, I’m not entirely sure that that feud properly exists anymore either.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You don’t seem the kind to allow feelings to flourish without provocation,” Baz looked at her, arching a brow. “That’s all you two do, isn’t it? Provoke. You poke and prod each other until you go off, you metaphorically, him physically. I would say its possible the same sentiment applies in this situation.”

Crowley, how could someone so smart be so exceedingly thick? Baz felt his previous anger evaporating as the stupidity of Penelope’s comment sunk in.

“You think my… feelings for Snow is the same as us attacking each other? Because clearly Bunce, it is not.” Baz gestured to the scene in the distance.

Simon and Agatha, clearly tired after the hard work of turning Snow into a respectable dancer, had moved onto the grass. A golden white head rested upon a heavily breathing chest as the pair of them laid down, looking up at the sky above them. Snow’s hand, Baz could see, was placed on top of Agatha’s as his arm lay protectively over her body. The pair looked so content, so _fated_ , that Baz had to look away.

“I don’t see _them_ attacking each other right now, do you?”

**Penelope:**

Penny herself took in the romantic scene, sighing.

“He’ll never give her up.”

Baz deflated a little. “Yes Bunce, thank you for your amendment. It is as repetitive as it is true.”

“Crowley,” Penny exhaled, “You really are determined to be melancholy, aren’t you Baz? Well, I want you to stop for half a second and listen. He will never _give her up_. That doesn’t mean he’s in love with her – it doesn’t even mean he’s happy. It just means that he will not break up with her; he doesn’t think he can choose his own path, his own _life_. She’s been presented to him as the consolation prize in the _‘life has totally fucked me over_ ’ game. When you’re given a gift you don’t believe you deserve, you don’t sit around questioning whether you truly want it, for what if you’re never gifted something again? He thinks that Agatha is his only chance, that his ‘destiny’ is set in stone. I’ve told you this.”

Why was she pushing? Why suddenly, after months of leaving it alone, did Penny care so much that _that_ would explode out of her?

Maybe it was the unknown. The chance.

Simon Snow, in the present, was not happy. If there was a chance that the boy in front of her, this stupid vampire, could do the job of making her best friend happier than Agatha, well…

She wasn’t going to let these thick-headed idiots prevent their own chance at something beautiful.

“Well, if you find out a way to sidestep destiny, let me know.”

As she said; thick-headed idiot.

She took a deep breath. “Basilton, I was under the impression you could read.”

“Bunce, if you could refrain -"

-“From insulting you? No, I can’t, because I’m sick of this. Where is the Agatha clause Baz? In that damn prophecy that everyone is so keen on following, where is the part that mentions her name? Because I can read, even if you can’t, and my eyes have never identified that part! Neither Simon nor Agatha should have to settle for consolation prizes, and no prophecy has ever said they should! You don’t seem like a man of hope, yet here you are, looking out at my best friend like a lovesick teenager! Which begs the question; why?”

The question lingered in the night time air. Baz opened his mouth to reply, but Penny beat him to it.

“It might just be because there is something to hope _for_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Baz:**

He was going to tell her she was being ridiculous, insane. If there was hope to be held, surely he would’ve found it by now?

But Bunce, after making her unexpected proclamation, did something distinctly _unbuncelike_ – she simply walked away, her (currently) red hair swinging behind her.

At first, this action confused Baz. Who was Bunce, thinking she could just flounce away without letting him win the argument? But upon reflection, he realised the obvious.

She had walked away because she was certain she was right.

He had never actually thought about the differences between Snow and his favourite sidekick; he’d always assumed that the pair were interchangeable, like Bunce was the female version of Snow’s persona.

But, Snow was _never_ certain he was right. Not on matters that involved his opinion – circumstances where his thoughts hadn’t been force fed to him by the mage. Yes, he hated Baz’s family – the mage hated _all_ the old families – but what was his favourite song?

He didn’t know. In response to questions such as that, he would bluster like no one else. _Um! I! Well! Huh?_

Unless it was Baz himself asking the questions. Then, instead of even trying to form a response, Snow would simply growl and Punch.

The cut of Bunce’s jib, it appeared, was quite different to Snow’s.

It must’ve taken a lot out of her, telling him the things she had. If their roles were reversed, then that kind of conversation would’ve never occurred. Baz imagined Snow being head over heels for him (Crowley, if only). Then, on top of that lovely mental image, he tried to imagine Dev going up to Snow, trying to give him a harsh but sincere pep talk, as Bunce had.

The chances of such thing occurring were laughable, and not only due to the fact that Snow would never fall for him in the first place.

_Dev_ would never do that, try to fill Snow with hope, despite all the trouble it would cause for him personally. Merlin, if Dev thought the chosen one loved a Pitch he would run for the hills, not attempt to play wingman.

This occurrence only served to put Baz in a fouler mood. Bunce knew what she _wished_  to see; a convenient person who would whisk Snow away from his fair maiden, making him happier in the process. (Because, apparently he was unhappy.)(Was he? Or was Bunce just delusional?)

Baz fit the role of _wanting_ to be that person, but that didn’t mean he _was_.

He walked back to his room alone, a million thoughts drowning in his head.

**Penelope:**

She had hidden herself behind the ramparts.

Just to see what he would do.

Penelope Bunce was not a time waster. She was an efficient, cut to the chase kind of girl. So despite her current behaviour being a bit too reminiscent of 5th year, it had to be done.

To see if the places her spiralling thoughts led her were even worth visiting. Basiton Grimm-Pitch had never done anything for her except insult her father and infuriate her best friend; she needed to be sure that if she acted in his favour, it would be worth it.

She was expecting some grand gesture to come from him after her exit – not _quite_ a Shakespearean soliloquy, but not far off either.

Instead, what she got was a staring, brooding vampire.

He, despite everything, looked across the balcony at Simon, but she was convinced that he was no longer truly seeing him. Baz was lost in his own thoughts, thoughts which Penny was sure differed hugely from the things he would vocalise. He leaned forward onto the balcony's railings, moving closer to what she assumed was on his mind.

Simon.

Then, he just walked away.

She cast her glance from Baz back over to Simon, and upon taking in her friend’s position, silently thanked Morgana that Baz had just left.

Agatha and Simon were kissing.

Despite not truly seeing at the pair, somehow Baz had known it was time for him to go.

Penny almost felt pity for him. Again.

Fuck a nine toed troll, she was going to do this, wasn’t she? She was going to help a Grimm-Pitch.

But first, she had to talk to Agatha.

**Baz:**

Baz sat down in the centre of his bed. His rigid posture began to slacken in exhaustion, almost as if he was willing himself to melt into the mattress, forget his brain for an hour. He began releasing a long breath. (Because, regardless of the surprise of a _certain_ roommate, vampires did breathe.) (Simon Snow was an idiot.)

But of course, because the universe was dead set on torturing him, Baz wasn’t permitted to simply sit there and seek some solace. His sigh had just started to release some of his stress – who _else_ would walk in, if not the man of the moment?

The air around Snow almost vibrated with content, which naturally meant the opposite effect washed over Baz. He corrected his posture, tensed his shoulders, and shot the other boy a cool look.

Snow wasn’t paying attention. He had moved to his wardrobe, disregarding his Watford jumper. Clad just in his white school shirt and trousers, he laid down on his bed, picking up whatever ridiculous carton book he was currently reading.

This simply would not do.

Baz was too riled up to allow the chosen one some peace. Snow was not allowed to sit still, obliviously in love, looking like _that_. His bronze curls a mess (No doubt Wellbelove’s doing), his shirt straining against his back.

“Well isn’t this just _lovely_.”

Snow looked up, disengaged.

He was so wrapped up in Wellbelove, he couldn’t even look at Baz with interest.

Which was simply not _fair_. Baz was extremely interesting. Snow, if nothing else, had always been _interested_ in him – that was the only reason Baz got the chance to look at him so often.

Look at him, try to kill him. Subtleties versus realities.

“What?” Snow asked simply. Half of his words were simple – it was like he struggled to string a sentence together half the time.

“You. Looking all loved up and happy. I’d take a picture of this glorious moment, but then I might actually have to look at this scene more than once.”

He wouldn’t be able to stand that. Seeing it in the flesh hurt enough.

Snow squinted his eyes at him. Baz could feel a slight flicker of magic in the air, the molecules surrounding Snow felt tinged with electric. Yet the boy said nothing; clearly, he was determined not to let Baz ruin his lovely day, his hands gripping at his cartoon slightly tighter.

“I mean truly, it would be a miracle picture. I’d even caption it for you: Here lies the chosen one, drowning in gratitude that finally, _somebody_ gives a shit about him.”

Snow’s eyes flicked up to his, filled with strong emotion. Since it directed at Baz, it was probably hatred. “Is it a lot of effort, being such a wanker all the time? Or does come naturally to you?”

Baz arched an eyebrow. “If this another way that you want to confirm that you’re _special_ , that you’re _different,_ then I suppose I’ll have to oblige.” Snow looked at him in confusion. “It’s natural around _you_ miracle boy, only you.”

If magic was a fuel, Baz was pretty sure that lighting a match in their room would’ve sent them both up in flames. Power seemed to coarse out of Snow with reckless abandon; he had too much. His magic was limitless, and it filled the spaces between them. Conveyed all the words Snow had failed to say.

For he had gotten up and left the room, with a look that, had not been shot at Baz, would’ve been interpreted as worry.

Off to Wellbelove, no doubt.

Baz tried not to focus on how empty the room felt afterwards. How quiet.

**Simon:**

Sometimes, Simon felt like he was a puppet. He moved when he was told, he played his part. His show was silent, he didn’t write the script. He was never pulling the strings, and he couldn’t even figure out why.

He was never any good with words.

Maybe that’s why his magic poured out of him. As a replacement to the things he couldn’t say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Penelope:**

Despite Penny being a woman of stubborn conviction, she knew she couldn’t run into her current plan with the subtlety of a public nudist, as was her custom. (The lack of subtlety thing that is; it was _not_ her custom to walk around in her birthday suit.) She had to prepare, for the boys weren’t the only ones that this could hurt.

 _Nobody_  was going to get hurt. A Bunce plan never fails. But… just in case.

Walking up the tower’s stairs to find Agatha, she could see that the light was on.

Penny burst into her friend’s room, the heavy wooden door groaning in protest. At first, as always when you walk into Agatha’s room, her eyes needed a second to adjust. Agatha's choice of decoration was overwhelming, to say the least.

Students weren’t allowed to paint over the castle walls, so throughout the years, the teens of Watford had become creative in how they personalised their living spaces. Most people went for posters, but Agatha (being the combination of arty and slightly snobby that she was), had always opted for tapestries. A rainforest covered her smaller wall, stars were spelled onto her ceiling. But the most notable artwork was the huge landscape of a beach tagged to her main wall, the sun setting in its background. They were all very nice, but the bright colours, when combined...

Well, they were a bit much.

Once Penny had ceased being distracted by the decoration, she looked at Agatha.

She was laying on her bed, belly first, legs up in the air. This position was most inelegant of her – she often scolded Penny for not being more ‘ladylike’. (‘ _Jesus, sit properly, we can see right up your skirt!’_ ) But, her position wasn’t the most surprising thing.

Her friend had her wand in her hand and appeared to be examining it for something. She held her magikal instrument a couple of centimetres from her face, her brow creased in confusion.

It was almost as if her eyes were asking the question, _what are you worth?_

“Is something wrong with it?”

Agatha jumped up immediately, straightening her skirt as she sat properly.

“Penny! How many times do I have to ask you to knock! I could’ve been naked!”

“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s a little nakedness between friends?” Agatha was looking at her like she was insane – perhaps Penny sympathised with those public nudists a tad more than she'd previously realised. “And don’t sit up on my account, your formality hurts my head.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “What do you want? It’s late.”

“It’s eleven, it's not  _that_ late. Why were you examining your wand if it’s not broken?”

A flush crept onto her cheeks. “I never said it wasn’t broken.”

Quickly, before Agatha could shield against her, Penny swiped the wand out of her clutches. Tasting the flavour of sage in her mouth – she always did when she did magic – Penny moved her hand across the surface of the wand. **“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”**

Nothing happened. Penny raised her eyebrows. “See?”

Making an impatient clucking noise, Agatha gestured for her want back. Penny handed it back to her with a flourish before sitting down beside her on the bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” She said sincerely, forgetting her pre-conceived conversation objectives, “You look worried about something.”

Agatha had somehow constructed an image of herself around Watford as a highly strung, complicated girl. She did tend to give off a slightly self-important vibe, but Penny suspected that was due to her upbringing more than anything. You couldn’t blame Agatha for being a tad conceited, the same way you couldn’t get annoyed at Simon for his troubles with words.

However, this conceitedness in hers did not mean she was enigmatic – she did not enjoy mysteries, therefore had no desire to become one herself. With Agatha, if you wanted to know something, all you had to do was ask.

Sometimes, a little straightforwardness is all that is needed.

“I… don’t really know how to explain it. It’s a lot of little things that I think about a lot, and some other, bigger things that I try to avoid thinking about at all.”

 _Crowley_ , Penny couldn’t help but observe, _I’m surrounded by people with suppression issues._

She gave her a sincere smile, placing her hand over Agatha’s in hopes of comforting her. “Let’s start with the things you’ve thought of, shall we?”

Agatha subconsciously touched her wand before beginning to talk.

**Agatha:**

Her problems were an intricate web, but there had always been one thing at the centre.

Magic.  

She _hated_ it.

It was just too much. The politics surrounding the Magikal world were so ridiculous; they made her head throb. The politicians, despite all of them having power lust in common, argued like there was no tomorrow which, if they continued to fight like they were, there might actually not be. 

Agatha loved the small things in life. Her friends, her family, her horses, the sun. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt those peaceful rays on her skin – the Watford castle caged her. She couldn’t leave. What part of that wasn’t like a prison?

Penny interjected here. “But you _can_ leave. The doors are open, it's not like they’ve locked us in here!”

She didn’t get it. If Agatha was honest, she didn’t think Penny ever would; She _loved_ magic. She lived and breathed it, the politics, the life at Watford. The isolation had never bothered her because it was exactly how she liked it.

A cage wasn’t a prison if you were there willingly.

But she had to try. For Penny. Because despite her doubts that her friend would relate, Penny was exactly that; her friend.

She cared.

“Did you ever get asked to be a Mage Pen? Was it ever a choice? Normals get options concerning what they become -  where do they want to go to school? What do they want to be when they grow up? I don’t have that choice. My future is already set in stone, my destiny.”

Penny wrinkled her nose at that last word as if the mere mention of the concept brought a bad taste to her mouth.

“Is this to do with Simon?” She asked bluntly.

Agatha threw up her hands. “No! Not everything is about Simon, Penny! This is about _me_.”

“I know this about you. I just asked if this was _to do_ with Simon, even the smallest bit.”

“It’s not! Well…” She hesitated, “Maybe a little bit. It’s not about _Simon_ Simon.”

Penny arched a brow. “You know another Simon?”

“No, I don’t.” She could hear in her own voice how defeated she sounded, how damn tired. “Although sometimes it feels like I do. This isn’t about Simon, the scone eating, stupidly loyal boy from the orphanage, the one who if fell in love with. This is about Simon, the chosen one, the greatest Mage that the world had ever seen.”

At this point in the conversation, she gave up on pretences. She allowed her posture to slouch, her head to rest on Penny’s shoulder. Her friend held her hand again, but this time, Agatha welcomed the comfort.

“I hate magic,” She repeated, whispering as if the walls were listening. “And yet here I am, fated to be with a boy who overspills with it. Simon is the centre of the World of the Mages, and I don’t even know if I want to be in it.”

“Yes,” Said Penny sadly, “But do you want to be with _him_?” She hesitated before adding:

“…Are you still in love with him?”

Agatha removed her head from its rest, looking into Penny’s eyes as she spoke.

“I don’t know.” She said quietly. Simply.

She didn’t know how long they sat there, her words echoing inside their heads. That had been the thing she had been scared to think, yet Penny had just tugged it out of her without even trying.

Agatha didn’t give a damn about magic, what she did care about was Si. Her friend. Her boyfriend. Her… _something_.

Because despite everything that she felt now, he was still dear to her. It was only him and Penny that stopped her cutting ties with the World of the Mage’s completely; she _could_ just run off into the sunset, find some normality. Yet she stayed for one reason: she loved them.

Just perhaps not in the way the chosen one wanted.

Still, there was a doubt that wriggled in the back of her mind.

“I still care for him loads,” She said suddenly, “When I see him, when we’re alone, I still feel warm. Nice. Like today, when we were dancing, I liked it. A lot. And after, we… well, it was lovely, you know?”

Penny nodded.

“Everything else just gets in the way. We can never be just a boy and girl, there’s always more. I don’t _want_ more, and I don’t know if I can wait for it to go away.”

“I think that you deserve more than just liking someone, you deserve to _love_ them. You need to figure out whether you love Simon like that, enough to wait around for all this madness to end.”

Agatha sighed. “ As long as being around Simon isn’t just mad in itself.”

She paused.

“What’s it like with you and Micha?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Baz:**

Simon Snow ate like a savage. He attacked each morsel of food with vigorous enthusiasm, but also with an air of awe. It was as if he was constantly surprised that his plate had the potential to be full, hence why he loaded it with as many scones as geometrically possible.

Yes, Baz was staring. The great hall at dinnertime was chaos; it was his prime opportunity for looking at Snow without anyone watching. (He hated that he was aware of that small fact.) It had been especially easy since fifth year; Snow had dragged himself and his cohorts to sit at a different table than what used to be their norm – the new seats were directly opposite Baz. The idiot had probably done it to ensure that Baz didn’t slip some innocent’s blood in with his evening tea.

Snow had barely taken his eyes off him that year. It was torture, but it was also… Not _nice_ , but affirming.

It had shown that the source of all of Baz’s woes at least felt _something_ towards him.

Nowadays, Snow barely looked at him twice. Too preoccupied with his glorious destiny to spare him a glance. Which was good – it allowed Baz more covert staring time.

But a little part of him, when he looked at Snow, would always be thinking the same thing.

_Go on, miracle boy, look at me._

Snow’s head swivelled in the opposite direction. Towards the entrance.

Towards her, of course.

Niall, who previously had been sat next to Baz looking unamused, nudged him. “Our boy’s got it bad, look.”

It was a well-known thing between the pair of them that Dev had been nursing a messy little crush on Agatha for a while now. As she approached his dark skin coloured slightly, his hands gripping his teacup a little tighter.

The golden girl looked determined. Her eyebrows were narrowed, her jaw clenched; she looked like a soldier desperate to win in her own private battles. Baz had previously been under the impression that she always floated through life, unconcerned and unpassionate.

That day, he was very very wrong.

Simon looked at Agatha in bewilderment; she looked right back. As the pair had never been very public with their relationship in the past, this curious scene, filled with Wellbeloves's boldness, was attracting quite a few stares.

Baz looked over at Bunce. She was sat next to Snow, eating a lemon slice. She looked interested in the forthcoming event, but not surprised.

Wellbelove reached Snow. The latter turned around on his seat to face her, his mouth opening in confusion, but his questioning words never got the chance to form.

Because Wellbelove grabbed his hands, hauled him up and silenced him with a kiss.

When Baz had realised he loved Snow, he thought he had experienced the ultimate amount of disdain towards himself. Every pore in his body flooded with the idea that _no, this was wrong_. He couldn’t love the chosen one, he _wouldn’t_. He wanted to reject his own emotions, dub them incorrect, because he simply _could not_.

Little did he know that his hatred towards his own feelings had only just begun.

It wasn’t the kiss that did it. It wasn’t Wellbelove throwing herself at Snow, consequences be damned, that hurt the most. It wasn’t even Snow’s lips, relaxed and contented, that caused Baz the most pain.

It was Snow's hands.

The moment Wellbelove’s intentions had become clear, his hands went to her waist. They encircled her with a care that is only conceived in love, with a knowledge that only comes from experience.

They had done this a million times before, yet he looked as though it was as brilliant as their first time.

Hurt. It pulled at Baz’s core, seeking to break down his walls. Have him fall apart in the great hall for everyone to see.

Everyone who had ever described love to him was a dirty liar. It wasn’t his saviour. Instead, it lit the flame.

He burnt.

He stood up, a familiar fake sneer shadowing his face in case anyone was watching him. It would not do to show weakness; it was not the Pitch way. He walked out of the room slowly, not wanting to seem too eager.

It was when he got outside that everything came crashing down.

**Agatha:**

The warmth was there, the niceness.

_With Micah, it’s like time stops. All that exists is him, me, and the unfathomable thing between us._

How long had they been kissing? It had felt like a while, but she didn’t want it to end. She was waiting for…

Something.

_He told me once that when he’s with me I become his air, but I also take his breath away. And I know it’s sappy, but I would have to say I agree._

His hands were at her waist, a comfort. They were a reminder of days gone by when the world lay at their feet, and she hadn’t cared where it led them, because she was with him.

_Every time feels right. Special. He understands me, and I do him._

Simon broke the kiss, confusion and surprise plain on his face. She searched it for what Penny had described. The centreless certainty that was being in love.

She couldn’t find it in him, just as she couldn’t find it in herself.

**Simon:**

She had kissed him in front of everyone.

That meant she must be happy, right?

Once Agatha had left, he saw that Baz was also absent.

He didn’t know why he'd noticed. His eyes were just drawn to his roommate’s chair.

**Baz:**

He sat outside the castle and crumbled.

He didn’t cry. Tears suggest humanity when they fell, but Baz had long since resigned to the truth; he was not human.

To be a person, you needed to be alive.

He simply remained motionless, looking at the gateway that seemed to mock him.

_‘Magic separates us from the world; may nothing separate us from each other.’_

What a load of tripe. Sure, he was separated from every person on the planet, but it had nothing to do with his bloody magic.

Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, Wellbelove’s little display would be beneficial for him. The incident had provided Baz with a visual reminder of all that was true – of everything that existed outside of the realm of his imagination and in the light of reality. Snow was in love. He was to be the saviour of the mages, not the saviour of him.

Their kiss had reminded him of a lesson that his family continuously preached: That emotion had no place in the life of a Pitch.

It must be true; this pain couldn’t benefit anyone.

It was at this point that Baz heard footsteps approaching.

Foolishly, he turned around. Some sick part of him thought that it might be Snow; as if after that fiasco the chosen one would be thinking of _him_.

Instead, Dev approached.

He looked a little wretched, but otherwise unscathed by the events they had just seen. Hands in his pockets, biting his lip, he looked towards Baz questioningly. If Baz’s job wasn’t to comfort a heartbroken Dev, then there was nothing to distract from his own sorry state. Baz immediately threw on a façade.

“Oh, put that away,” said Dev, coming to sit down next to him, “You insult me.”

Baz arched an eyebrow, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Put away what?”

“That.” He gestured to Baz’s face, and despite himself, Baz felt the grains of resistance begin to slip away. He wrung his hands. Dev watched him.

“It’s okay, you know. Whatever you're feeling.”

The sentiment of compassion was delivered with discomfort yet sincerity.

“Dev, I don’t know what you’ve been smoking. I’m not feeling anything.”

He received a sharp look. “Don’t pull that shit with me, I’ve known you since we were babies – I can tell when you’re lying.”

They both paused, and Baz could tell that they were thinking the same thing. How far would this conversation go? Were they really going to talk about their  _feelings_?

Despite his words being anything but approving of the subject matter, Baz let out a slight sigh of confession. Apparently, that was all Dev needed to egg his determined rampage onwards.

“I know that that sucked for you, it sucked for me too. But, more for you, I think. You have always felt stuff more intensely than the rest of us. I'm sorry. Not about your feelings, but about the it sucking thing. You can feel whatever need. I think I already said that.” He breathed in. “Crowley, I’m bad at this.”

Baz looked up, opening his mouth before closing it again. He set his jaw. 

“What are you blabbing on about?”

Dev had tried, he truly had. But this emotional talking was new to him; he hadn’t yet learnt the art of subtlety.

“You and that Snow boy.” He said simply.

_He can’t know. He couldn’t be implying…_

“Me and Snow _what_?”

Dev shrugged.

Baz began to feel the tinges of panic. “Come on,” he said, snapping his fingers, “What?”

Brown eyes met grey. “You like him. That’s okay – I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got a thing for his girlfriend.”

For the first time in his entire life, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was rendered speechless.

“You probably already do know,” Dev continued as if he hadn’t just disrupted his cousins’ entire universe, “You’re clever like that. The only reason I figured out about _you_ is because of her, actually.”

The surprise blocking Baz’s words from escaping gave way slightly at this.

“…What?” His voice was quiet and drenched in shock. His father would be so ashamed.

“Well,” Dev hesitated, his cheeks beginning to redden once more, “I thought that you liked _her_ , to begin with. You were always staring at the pair of them; I assumed that she had caught your eye, as she had mine. I wasn’t about to have my heart broken by my crush getting with my cousin, so I… checked.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I followed your glance every time you stared and… Well, turns out you weren’t looking at Agatha.”

Thoughts that were usually so well contained began to spiral.

_If Dev has worked it out, who else has?_ Baz had thought his feelings had been so well masked, unperceivable to the eye. Yes, there was Bunce. He had justified her comments with the knowledge that she was smart and, despite everything, appeared to know when a secret should remain untold.

But, if even Dev knew…

“It makes sense actually,” he rambled on, “You always have been a bit obsessed; before I couldn’t figure out why you talked about him so much.”

Baz resisted the urge to ask at first, before rolling his eyes mightily. This conversation was already going to haunt him for the rest of time, he might as well get all the information he wanted out of it.

“How did you know that I was gay?”

His friends posture slouched slightly at this comment, his face (if Baz wasn’t mistaken, which he rarely was) a little hurt.

“Oh please,” He said dramatically, “Why do you insist on degrading me? I do know you, Baz.”

That earnt him a flick to the head. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Let me think. You had an obsession with that weird Drake and Josh show, and I don’t think it was to do with the plot –“

-“Hey! That was quality shitty American TV!”

“You had your dark angsty ‘ _nobody understands me_ ’ phase at the exact same time that Snow started following you around like a lost puppy –“

“Those two events are completely unrelated.”

-“And you always seized up whenever your father would say something homophobic.”

Baz paused.

He had to concede there.

“Plus,” Dev said, seeing the sadness in Baz’s eyes, “I’ve seen your bookshelf. You’ve got more copies of the sixth Harry Potter book than any of the others, and everyone knows that’s the gayest one.”

“ _Does_ everyone know?”

Dev could tell his cousin wasn’t actually asking about the subtext of gay fictional wizards.

“No.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Nobody else knows, not even Niall. I don’t think anyway. We’ve never discussed it. It seemed like your business.”

“It is.” Baz replied sharply.

Silence. For a little while, anyway. It wasn’t the kind of quiet which was tinged with awkwardness, the need to fill it with meaningless words. It was… accepting. The kind of quiet you can only get with a person who you know well, and who knows you in return. Questions did flicker in their minds, ones addressed at both themselves and each other, but they did not voice them. There would be time.

However, some would argue that there is no time like the present - Dev couldn't help that one of his queries slipped out.

“So…” He began, apprehensive. “What are you going to do?”

Baz swallowed. “I have absolutely no idea.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Simon:**

“I think we might actually be okay now, Pen,” Simon said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I’d thought that we might be on the rocks, with her”- his voice lowered –“you know, maybe not liking me anymore. But she, well, you saw what she did. Surely that means we're are fine now?”

Penny just looked at him.

Doubt crept in.

Simon bit his tongue before he remembered who he was talking to. Or, more accurately, he remembered said talker's continuous preaching, which constantly stated that describing his feelings was okay. Penny didn't mind that he wasn't concise or poetic, as long as he tried to explain - a feat which, before he'd met her, he would've avoided in fear of sounding dumb. But now, after years of Penny's company, he found that he could be honest and vocalise his emotions. That was a luxury which he tried to utilise as much as possible.

“The other day we were laying together. And I felt like maybe she didn’t want me - she wouldn’t look at me. But then she kissed me today -"

Penny cut him off. “We are leaving. Now.”

To anyone else but Simon, her unenthusiastic tone would've sounded normal, if only slightly bored. To him, however, her lack of zeal made her seem almost frantic. Penny almost never sounded unpassionate; his friend could construct a two-hour speech about the merits of waffles over pancakes. She would deliver the speech like no one else could, and her eagerness to prove her point would rival that of a politician's when delivering an anti-war plead. 

In other words, she  _never_  sounded neutral. She  _never_ sounded defeated. Yet, in that moment, she did.

He blanched. “Ummm, why?”

“Because we are Si, we just are. I don’t care what you’re doing today, we’re gone.”

**Penelope:**

She had to get them out of there.

Watford, despite being Simon’s first and only real home, would always seek to cage him. There, surrounded by Mages with more talent and less power, he would always be the chosen one. The boy whom everyone looked at with hope, glossing over his flaws – seeing exactly what they wished to see. It’s dangerous to never be seen as you truly are, for you can get drunk off of other people’s perceived image.

You can forget the truth that lies underneath.

So yes. They were leaving, just for the day. Because despite Agatha’s grand show over breakfast, Penny was still sticking to her resolution. In fact, she would say that the spectacle had only furthered her determination.

Because Simon was buzzing with something that wasn’t happiness.

It was relief.

And Agatha…

Well, it was like a veil had lifted. Simon was disillusioned in her eyes. The boy himself didn’t see that, but Penny did.

She also knew what it meant.

_He thinks she’s his destiny._

If Agatha broke up with Simon before he realised that statements falsehood, Penny feared that her friend would lose his desire to go on. Becuase, if you lose your constellation prize, what makes up for losing the fight?

Simon needed to realise that life could give him other gifts.

**Simon:**

He was worried. Anxious. Whether it was about Agatha, Penny or something else, he wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, his relieved ‘ _my girlfriend likes_ _me’_ bubble had been popped, or at least slightly dented.

(Can you dent a bubble? That doesn’t seem possible.)(But still, it felt true.)

He ignored it. He followed Penny.

If he couldn’t trust her, then he couldn’t trust anyone.

**Penelope:**

The town was busy that day, filled with normals bustling about, trying to find a certain T-shirt or a specific facewash. Sometimes Penny became jealous of them; the way they conducted their lives seemed so simple, so mundane. _They_ never had to worry about the dangers of dragons or the fragile morale of their best friend in the face of a prophecy. 

“Pen, where are we going?” Simon asked. He always looked slightly disgruntled out in public, away from the watchful eye of the mage. It was like he believed he always had to be prepared for an attack, yet he couldn't get his mind to preconceive any potential threats. Couldn't muster up enough care to always be battle ready. 

The fact that the Normals always looked at him as if he gave off a bad stench couldn’t help either.

_It must be horrible_ , Penny thought _, to have your magic repel those who you might befriend and attract those who you despise._

“You’ll see.” She could hear the slight cutting edge in her own voice; she hoped that Simon put it down to the crowds.

After a walk that in reality was five minutes but felt like a lifetime, Penny saw what she had been looking for.

A big lit up W sign that stuck out to face the high-street.

In other words, home.

It had taken _years_ for Penny to connive Simon into taking an interest in books. As an eleven-year-old orphan he wasn’t accustomed to having possessions; as a defence mechanism, he'd convinced himself he didn’t need anything material anyway.

_Why would I buy a book when I can just ask you what’s in it? Pen, you’re my own personal library!_

She had not been discouraged – Bunces were not quitters. Therefore, years later, she managed to drag him to Waterstones kicking and screaming.

His face, when they'd walked in, was worth the pain of every bookish argument they'd ever had.

Simon lit up. It was like he had discovered a hunger that was previously unknown, a pair of wings that he had never used before. He walked the aisles aimlessly; he wanted to bask in his current experience. Store it on a hard drive to keep forever.

_It's just… I’ve never seen so many kinds of books before._

Apparently, he had thought that the Watford library only contained school books.

_Honestly._

After much deliberation he gravitated towards the graphic novel section - he had never looked back.

It had been several years since their first visit, but Penny hoped there was never a last. This building, of old Victorian architecture in central London, had begun to mean something to the pair of them. When the World of the Mages got too much - when the pressure was too heavy for even Simon’s accustomed shoulders - they would come here. Sit in the squishy chairs. Talk. Read. Eat baked goods from the café and spill coffee over books they were yet to buy.

This building contained the stories of thousands of people; there, Simon and Penny were just teenagers, not fated Mages destined for greatness.

They walked through the old wooden doorway and became children once more.

Penny watched as Simon’s shoulders relaxed, his blue eyes becoming less clouded. He immediately approached their part of the store: the two slouchy chairs secluded in the back, surrounded by coloured drawings. Their spot had always felt private, as the plastic spiral displays blocked them from other customers.

They sat down. The headboards of the chairs were parallel, meaning that the pair of them could lean back and still see the other’s face. Simon propped his legs up on hers, his hands clasped on his lap.

“What is going on with you, Simon?”

He looked at her in such genuine confusion that Penny wanted to both laugh and cry.

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , what’s happening inside that head of yours? Normally I can tell how you’re doing, but recently… well, it's like your wrapped up inside something and you can’t get out. And I can’t tell what that something is.”

Simon’s brow crinkled as he played with the ring on his right hand. It had been a present from Agatha for his fifteenth birthday. He never took it off.

“I, well,” He hesitated, eyes downcast. “I don’t know. What it is, I mean. I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t know _why._ ”

He paused.

“Sometimes, it feels like me being bad with words is a curse. I have magic but I can’t control it. I have a destiny and I can’t change it. If it was you, you probably could – you can talk yourself out of anything. But I can never think of reasons why I shouldn’t do something, so I just do it.”

“Simon, what is _'_ _it'_?” His eyes narrowed in confusion. She rephrased her question. "What are the things you do because you feel like you have to?" 

“I don’t know." He took off his ring and began to twist it around his pinky. "Most things in my future, I suppose.”

That hit Penny like a smack to the face. She had always assumed that he couldn’t perceive his blind obedience to every expectation, as if he couldn’t see that his life had been mapped out for him. She’d had thought that he didn’t know because he didn’t think about it. She felt a shame wash over her.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“Not long. Normally, things feel right, like I’m supposed to be doing them. But recently, something is off.”

“So, something _has_ changed.” Her mind was spinning. Was this just Simon growing up, learning to question the things he had always done? Or was this because of an emotional shift?

…was it both?

“Hey!” He nudged her arm with his foot. “You can’t tell me to come with you, start analysing me and then not even tell me what you’re thinking.”

It was time to nut up or shut up. Penny swallowed.

“Describe to me your future. What do you think is going to happen?”

He looked slightly put out by what he clearly thought was a bizarre question, but she had asked, so he would answer.

“Well. I will defeat the humdrum, or the humdrum will kill me. I’ll try and save the world of the mages, which might mean I have to kill Baz and the rest of the old families,” – Penny noted that this requirement sounded less passionate than his first suggestion – “I’ll stay with Agatha if I survive all of this, and we’ll live together somewhere. And we will… do _something_.”

So many plans for a boy who wasn’t a planner.

“Now, how many of those things do you actually _want_?”

**Simon** :

He didn’t know.

Bollocks, why didn’t he know?

An underlying panic which he had been harbouring for a while began to upsurge.

**Penny:**

“No, Simon, its okay.” His breathing had gone slightly ragged, the colour draining from his face. She swung her legs round off the sofa, leaning forward to hold his hand. He gripped it tightly.

They sat like that for a long time.

“I want to defeat the humdrum.” Quiet, but confident. “He hurts the people I love, he hurts magic. I want to stop people fighting.” This also sounded assured -rather different than his earlier plans to kill his way out of the problem. “I… Jesus Christ, Pen. I want to live. Everything after whatever is coming for me is hazy. It’s like it’s not going to be real.”

“Is that because you don’t think it will happen, or because you don’t want it to?”

He hesitated.

“Both.”

The sounds of the other shoppers just faded away, leaving only them. At that moment, they were the only two people on the planet, drowning in other people’s fictional stories. The tales told on paper, the ones that surrounded them, felt just as real the future he had just described; she could see the realisation as it dawned. As it hurt.

“We are going to be just fine,” Penny whispered. Simon rested his head on her shoulder. “You and me, alright? We’re going to do whatever we want with our lives; they’re ours. Nobody else’s. We don’t belong to the mage, we don’t belong to the prophecy. You’re on my future list for the long run, and I hope I’m on yours.”

Simon nodded into her shoulder.

**Simon:**

He still loved Agatha, just not in the way he was supposed to. The way he wanted to.

She and Penny were his best friends.

He sure as hell hoped it stayed that way.

**Penelope:**

He had realised.

Watching him broke her heart.

**Simon:**

He hoped that he wasn’t abandoning his last shot at love.

Who else would open up to him, love _him_ , a boy who may not even outlast the year?

He knew that it was selfish, but he didn’t want to be alone.

“Come on,” said Penny. “Let's get out of here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Penelope:**

Enough was enough.

She had done all she could in her subtle, _let them figure out their own_ method of approach. Now, it was time Penny allowed herself to act in a manner that felt more natural.

So far, she had poked and prodded politely but firmly at her friends. She had watched as they dawdled off in their own directions. It was like they were actors whom she'd allowed five minutes of improv.

As the director, it was time she took back control of the stage.

That, and write a text to her mother.

**Simon:**

There was a girl in his room.

**Agatha:**

The look on Simon’s face wasn’t exactly encouraging.

He looked completely displaced, like someone had just summoned a demon right in front of his eyes.

**Simon:**

Think of the devil and apparently, the devil will come.

**Agatha:**

The first time she had seen Simon Snow, he had been untainted.

A mess of blue eyes, ginger curls and face too hollow for a child. He had been bouncing that infernal ball off his, and despite the sense of awe in which he looked at everything, Simon had exuded mundanity. He was the first Mage to come from Normals; you could tell that just by looking at him.

He had none of what Agatha hated, the smug authority that comes with having magic. He was just a boy.

As she looked at him now, she saw a man. True, he had kept the mess of bronze, but he had grown, as had she. They had grown apart.

But, Agatha believed that you never truly lost your past selves, you simply built on them. The boy who had once been her escape from the caging World Of the Mages still existed underneath all those expectations. She just had to peel back that layer of him.

To talk to Simon instead of the mage’s heir.

She could start to see him – Simon, not the chosen one -  as he moved towards her in concern. She had already sat on his bed. (She had known which one was his, despite having never been in his room before; Penny had somehow spelled her in.)(There were graphic novels on his bedside and his sheets smelt of cinnamon and scones.) He immediately sat down next to her, worrying at his lip as he crossed his legs. There was a question in his face, she could see it, but she had to say her piece first.

Because the slouching, fidgeting, scone-loving fool sat in front of her was _Simon_. In his room, alone, they could finally be truthful with one another.

It was time.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Simon, when was the last time you felt centreless with me?”

She had expected to be questioned – her phrasing _was_ bizarre – but he seemed to understand. He sat up a little straighter and looked directly at her, the comprehension in his eyes confirming what she hadn’t stopped to think but somehow already knew.

She wasn’t the only one feeling lost.

He swallowed. “I… don’t know.”

Apprehension laced his features, so she leant forward and took his hand. His callused palm fit comfortably in hers, a comforting weight of reassurance.

“Neither do I Si. It’s okay.”

Her assurance was a dirty lie. Whatever this was, it wasn’t okay; she was beginning to hurt. Her throat was doing that thing where it threatened to close up, as if her body was fighting against the words she needed to say. Simon, with his pale face and furrowed brows, looked as though he was experiencing a similar phenomenon.

“We were happy,” Simon said suddenly, forcing Agatha to meet his glance once more. “I loved you, and I think you loved me. We were good.”

That statement, so simple, so _Simon_ , threatened to break her heart.

“Oh Si, we were _unstoppable_.”

“But now we aren’t?” His voice cracked slightly.

She forced her throat to stay clear. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

He grasped her hand tighter. “Yes. I…" He cleared his throat, "I think I do.”

They paused for a moment, simply looking at each other before her brain clicked into gear. She _had_ to explain. She owed it to Simon now, but she also owed it to their fifteen-year-old past selves. They had started something beautiful; she would be damned if they didn’t end it right. “The future was too much for me. I used to look at you and _see you_. I know that sounds obvious, but it’s true. I fell in love with the terrible inoculation, a stubborn streak and a heart filled with light. Now, when I look at you, I can’t help but see…”

“Everything I have to do.” He finished ruefully.

“No.” She whispered, willing him to understand. “I see everything you’re supposed to become, the list of character traits people have assigned to you. That person, the hero of us all, isn’t the person I fell in love with.”

Simon’s hand went lax in hers. He was no longer looking at her.

“I don’t think that’s the person you want to be either, is it?”

“It used to be. I used to want this.” He gestured between the pair of them. “You were my girl, Agatha. The person I wanted that future _with_. I didn’t mind that everyone else expected stuff because I was going to be with you. But now it’s different." He looked down as if he were ashamed. "I get nightmares about what I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to become. I get so _angry_ that the world won’t leave me alone.” He paused. “I think those expectations really fucked us over, didn’t they?”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She just nodded her head.

Tears were pricking in Simon’s eyes. Agatha wanted to comfort him – take him into her arms, as she had done countless other times when he was hurt from some battle, wounded in her grasp. But she didn’t do that. She couldn’t bear the reminder of what she had been; a glorified princess, always sidelined, for why wouldthe fair maiden be centre stage when a battle containing her lover was commencing elsewhere? In the eyes of the rest of the world, her future held nothing self-obtained or unregimented; it contained only a man. The chosen one, who was of such importance that he was supposed to fill up the whole of her happy ending, leaving room for nothing else. Leaving no room for _her_.

So, instead, she just drew circles on the palm of his hand, hoping that it helped as he cried.

He didn’t try and wipe the stains away. He just let the tears fall.

“Penny says that the pressure to be perfect stopped us from evolving as normal couples do.”

Agatha smiled sadly. “Don’t tell her I said this, but I think she might be onto something. I always knew that girl had more than one brain cell.”

The absurdity her comment, despite everything, made the pair of them smile.

It was in this moment that something wonderful occurred to them:

They might be able to make it through this.

Not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as something better. Something new.

As they realised that, the door opened.

**Baz:**

He could watch Wellbelove swing for this.

Baz was in a foul mood. Snow had been absent from lessons all day, as had his fellow cohorts. Due to this, he’d been unable to give a rats fart about whatever his teachers were saying. His eyes were focused not on the board but on Snow's empty seat - the boy was so inexplicably absent that Baz was almost worried.

_What stupid thing had the chosen one done now?_

But apparently Baz’s lack of intellectual participation had all been for nothing, for when he kicked their door open, he wasn't greeted with the expected scene filled with blood and sacrifice, but a scene none the less.

Snow and Wellbelove. On a bed. Holding hands. Looking at each other with such intensity that they barely noticed his entrance. It was only when Baz not so subtly coughed that the pair caught on.

Wellbelove, despite her magickal career quite literally being on the line, did not leave immediately. Instead, she stayed seated on Snow’s bed, seeking out his eye contact once more.

When Baz had walked in Snow had immediately looked down, a fact that for some reason had really grated on his last nerve.

The golden girl leaned forward, whispering something in Snow’s ear. He nodded in response, giving his girlfriend what Baz could only assume was an adoring smile; he couldn’t quite see Snow’s face.  She squeezed his hands once more in response before getting up, looking worriedly towards her boyfriend before she left.

Neither of them offered up any explanation to Baz, or even glanced in his direction.

**Simon:**

_Relationship or not, I will always love you, Simon. You know that, right?_

He did know.

It did not stop the fresh tears from forming.

Sometimes you’ve just got to cry.

**Baz:**

He was about to go into defence mode. About to say something scathing, like threating to snitch on Wellbelove. Not because he actually gave a shit about the bedroom gender rules, (He was a vampire at Watford for Merlin’s sake, he broke every rule in the book just by being there), but because he didn’t want to see the golden couple in his room again. Sharing with Snow was painful enough.

Besides, him being awful was expected. It was what he had always done, aggravating Snow until he went off – he had no other response to any of the boy’s actions.

Which is why his current predicament was so troubling.

Snow was crying.

You’d think that when you got emotional around your sworn enemy you would try to hide it. Crowley, when Baz got a bit weepy he would run into the bathroom, turn on the shower and stay there until he stopped.

But of _course_ , Snow didn’t do that. He just _had_ to go and make Baz’s life difficult.

By sitting there, his head between his knees, openly sobbing.

How do you treat a crying boy who you’re supposed to hate but are desperately in love with? How do you comfort someone with an air of indifference when really, all you want to do is take them in your arms?

There was no precedent for this!

“Um, Snow?” He asked tentatively, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 Snow laughed bitterly between tears. “Talk to you? Why the _fuck_ would I want to do that? Jesus Christ Baz, can you pick someone else to patronise just this once?”

Baz’s question had been stupid. Realistically, that had been the appropriate response. But it stung him regardless.

“I’m not trying to patronise you. Only I’m allowed to make you this miserable, I reserved the right when I was twelve. Nobody else has the right.”

Snow just looked at him. He was sceptical of Baz even when he was this much of a wreck.

_Crowley_ , Baz thought _, He really thinks I’m an arse._

“Come on, out with it.”

The sobbing boy buried his head between his knees again, his half-hearted words becoming muffled and incomprehensible.

“Speak up, because funnily enough, I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I _said_ ,” Snow began viciously despite his tears, “Agatha and I broke up. So there. You win, I suppose, you utter wanker.”

Baz blinked.

The golden couple _broke up_?

Surely that’s not allowed to happen? They were literally fated to be together. And now they’ve broken up. Like their relationship was a normal one, like Snow was a normal teenager. Apparently, the pair of them had decided to sidestep destiny.

_Like Snow was a normal teenager._

He was experiencing his first heartbreak just as anyone else would. Baz’s head was spinning, screaming that he couldn’t have heard right.

Whatever. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He would muddle it out later. Because right now he needed to comfort Snow. Say something good. Not nice, but not horrible either. He needed an average response to this.

“I win?” He ended up saying, because apparently, Baz couldn’t have everything he needed, “Snow, I don’t like Wellbelove. I never have.”

Disgust washed over Snow’s face. “I didn’t mean you won _Agatha_. She isn’t a prize, she’s a _person_. No,” He sniffed, new tears falling down his cheeks, “I meant that you’ve finally won your wildest dream; seeing me at my most miserable. Congratulations.”

The irony of that statement was made clear as Baz’s heart clenched. Snow was hurting and it was pulling him apart.

“Saying that,” he blathered on, “Maybe she will end up with you. Not as a prize, but as a person. You always have had your eye on her. I’ve seen you looking. Perhaps she’ll fall for your vampire charm. Now, wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of this fucking situation? I bet - ”

-“Snow, shut up,” said Baz as he did something he vowed he would never do. Something he was bound to regret.

He got up and went and sat on Snow’s bed.

“I’m not going to date Wellbelove, and you’re insane if you think she’d ever date me. Just because she broke up with you doesn’t mean –"

Snow kicked him. Hard. “She didn’t break up with me, you complete tosser. We mutually broke it off.”

_They mutually broke it off_. Which meant that Snow…

Simon looked up, suddenly becoming aware of something. “Why can I kick you? Why are you on my  _bed_? Gloating from across the room not enough for you?”

Baz retracted his legs slightly but didn’t move away. Snow was a deer in the headlights; he feared that any sudden movements might set him off.

“If it was mutual, why are you crying?”

Snow snorted, tears still streaming down his face. It was quite the image. “For someone who's supposed to be smart, you aren’t half dead from the neck up.” Baz looked at him in confusion, the other boy scowled. “It still _hurts_ no matter who ended it. It’s a chapter in my life ending. How can you not get that? Have you never been in love?”

_Oh, you have no idea._

 Apparently, when Snow became visibly sad, Baz's filter - the one that removed all sincerity and added in the snark - broke down. Becuase he found himself saying something he would normally think, feel mildly ashamed about how cliched it was, and then dismiss. “You feel shitty. You feel worthless. Like you’re at the bottom of a pit and the one person with the rope – the person you love – has walked away, leaving you in the darkness. But, I promise you this Snow; you will see the light again. It just might take some time.”

Eyebrows were raised in Baz’s direction but he didn’t care. Those blue eyes had stopped crying. That was all that mattered.

They sat in silence for a while, both still on Snow’s bed. Determined not to look at the other boy’s heartbroken face any longer, Baz fixed his gaze on Snow’s feet. They were centimetres from his own, crossed underneath Snow’s legs. His socks were odd, one blue, the other bright pink.

“Why did you break up?”

He could only ask it when he wasn’t looking into the other boy's eyes. Snow was a terrible liar anyway, but his eyes were a gateway of truth.

Baz wanted to give both Snow and himself deniability.

“I’m going to sleep now.” He said instead of replying.

Baz, not knowing whether he was disappointed or relieved, got up and sat back in his own bed. He magicked the lights out.

“Goodnight Snow.”

A muffled sound. If Baz wasn’t mistaken, he could’ve sworn that Snow had said something in reply.

**Simon:**

It was pitch black. Around three AM, if Simon was correct, but he wasn’t the only one awake.

At least he didn’t think he was, so he spoke out softly into the darkness.

“I wasn’t happy with her anymore. Nor was she with me. It wasn’t the same. That’s why we broke up.”

Silence pierced his ears, making him think he’d just confessed to the shadows.

Then.

“Okay,” Baz replied softly.

Simon turned over and tried to capture some sleep


	7. Chapter 7

**Penny:**

Something had changed.

It had been a month since Agatha and Simon had broken their relationship off, but the pair of them carried on. Agatha still sat with them at dinner, they still joked. Simon still poked fun at her for being a little sheltered about how the world worked. Agatha still became indignant, protesting in response.

They were good friends. That hadn’t changed.

Basilton was still in love with Simon, that hadn’t changed either. She would still catch him staring at them at dinner, his hope that nobody noticed his admiration of a _certain someone_  radiated off of him. How on earth Baz found Simon practically inhaling his scones an interesting viewing experience, she would never know. But, clearly, he did; if Simon's eating was accompanied with laughter, grey eyes would inevitably widen.

Perhaps the covert staring _did_ make a fraction of sense after all. The vampire clearly wanted to watch her best friend be happy, and Simon was always happy in these moments. Therefore Baz kept looking, regardless of the negative effects it had on him.

A certain pain will always manifest when you see your unrequited love be joyful from far away, despite their happiness being the very thing you crave. It is the ultimate double-edged sword, due to one singular, cruel fact: _their_ happiness can thrive without _you_.  Every echo of laughter is created without your aid and can exist despite your misery. Every smile that fills their face is a reminder that the connection between your hearts only goes one way. A reminder that _your_ happiness is intrinsically linked with _theirs -_  the same cannot be said for them. You are unimportant, a mere speck of dust in the complexity of their solar system.

These reminders are not kind.

Baz still thought that he had no chance with Simon. He still believed that he was condemned to pine eternally for a boy he could never have. That had not changed.

No, what had changed was Penny’s belief that he was right.

Because Simon, despite all odds, had _stopped talking about Baz_.

Now, you would be forgiven in thinking that this meant Simon was indifferent to the vampire. That finally, he had taken her bloody great advice by blocking him out. Many had already assumed this, commenting to her about how good it was that their childish feud was finally over; Simon had stopped trying to convince the world that Baz was evil, so surely he must’ve moved on?

Penny knew that wasn’t the case. Simon hadn’t stopped talking about Baz because he no longer _cared_ , he was simply feeding his obsession by another means.

Instead of talking to _her_ about Baz, Simon simply talked _to Baz_.

Directly. Like it wasn’t a big deal. As if he hadn’t just changed his mind on a person who he had consistently hated for years,  _without speaking to her about it._

What in the name of Morgana was going on?

She would simply have to ask him.

**Simon:**

He had no idea what was going on.

After the night of the breakup, he had been unable to continue treating Baz the same, despite his logical brain telling him that was the only way to resume normality.

Yes, Baz was still a selfish prick. Yes, he still could push Simon’s buttons like no one else. But for some reason, those facts didn’t strike anger into his heart the same way they used too.

He had no idea why.

He just kept thinking about what Baz had said that night, about the light. Simon, despite Penny always telling him he had too many friends, had begun to close himself off in the recent years. Morbid though it was, there was seemingly only one explanation for this. He was preparing for the end.

If there was less love surrounding him, then fewer people would get hurt.

There was only one problem; he didn’t _want_ to be alone, because curiously enough, he didn't want to _die._ Yes, he would do it when the time came, but his desire to play the hero had worn off. 

He was done with pretending. 

He wanted more than one person to be holding the rope when he fell down that dark hole – he wanted people to _care_.

So, when he caught Baz staring in his direction, he no longer went off like an H bomb. He no longer put his arm around Agatha in a display of protectiveness.

Instead, he just grinned back.

**Baz:**

Snow was about to make him lose his damn mind.

The idiot kept _smiling_ at him. He kept _talking_ to him. Like in one civil conversation they had cancelled out years of antagonism.

Baz hated how much he loved it.

Not only did Snow keep smiling at him, but Baz also had two other pairs of eyes on him constantly. Wellbelove kept watching him, not in a flirty way (much to the relief of Dev), but in surveillance  – she was waiting for him to fuck up.

He didn’t know what it was that he _could_ fuck up, but her pale glare made him want to ensure he didn’t. (Both this, combined with the decent way she had been treating Snow, had forced Baz to form a grudging respect towards the golden girl.)(He didn’t even know who he was anymore.)

And of course, Bunce was watching him. When he went to _class_ , when he watched _Snow_ in class, when he spoke to Snow in _any_ _capacity._ It was like bloody fifth year all over again.

“Since when were you matey with the trio of magelings?” Niall lent over their table, reaching for the honey. His breakfast every day, without fail, was Watford’s disgusting porridge, coated in the sticky liquid sweetener.

“I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Dev chipped in. “That’s strange, considering all three of them are looking at you right now .”

Wellbelove, a scowl. Bunce, a raised eyebrow. And Snow, of _fucking course_ , a smile.

“That’s completely beside the point.” He snapped.

“Then tell me, dear boy,” Niall said, “What _is_ the point? Because I’m definitely missing something.”

“Just because they want to stare at my beautiful face doesn’t mean I want to look at theirs.”

Dev raised his eyebrow a fraction. Baz wanted to punch him. He and Niall were made from the same mould; Dev had always been the soft one. The mildly sappy one. The _I’m oblivious to other observant people_ one.

“Care to share Dev? I’m taking a severe disliking to you knowing something I don’t. That has never happened before; it's highly disconcerting.”

“Both of you, shut _up_. Dev,” Baz looked over to find that the boy looked thoroughly victimised, “Stop being a git –“

“I wasn’t trying to be!”

-“And Niall, stop theorising about shit that is _not there_.”

Dev looked ashamed, Niall looked semi-convinced by Baz's conviction, everything was going _so well_. But of course, his brilliant acting was wasted as it was about Snow - just when you think you're having a scene without Simon, he drops in to remind you're only a supporting character in his catastrophe.

Leaving his seat with Bunce and Wellbelove, he got up, scone in hand. Instead of taking the usual route out of the grand hall, the idiot took a detour.

He walked over to their table.

Instead of scowling at him (like he should’ve done) or sitting down next to him (Like Baz secretly hoped he would), Snow did something both unexpected and incredibly inconvenient.

He picked off a bit of his scone and threw it at Baz’s face.

Yes, that’s right, the chosen one threw a scone at him.

“Liven up Pitch, you look like someone shat in your cornflakes.”

The statement wasn’t provoking or argumentative, it was playful. Simon Snow was trying to be _playful_ with him.

Upon seeing Baz’s responding frown the boy laughed and walked away, yelling, “Your cornflakes are clear, I checked!” as he went.

“Yeah,” Niall said, “Because that’s _totally_ fucking normal, isn’t it?”

**

**Baz:**

He got his hope the next day.

He had just sat down at his usual seat and was waiting for Dev and Niall to rot up to breakfast. Instead, he was given a different kind of company.

Snow approached him without hesitation, a bowl of something in his hand.

“I made sure your cornflakes were clear this morning,” he said, passing the cereal to Baz. Then he sat down beside him, grabbed a plate and started piling it up with waffles. “No need to thank me.”

“Snow, what on earth are you doing?”

He paused mid bite. “Eating? What does it look like I’m doing?”

Baz really should protest, but…

Fuck it, he didn’t want to.

“Fine, be a complete moron if you want. Just don’t expect me to actually eat this.” He pushed the offending bowl away and began to make his own food.

“Hey! Don’t waste that!" His level of indignation was ridiculous. " Why won't you eat it?”

“Because unlike yesterday, this bowl actually _could’ve_ been shat in. I’m not eating food you’ve prepared in case you’ve poisoned it.”

Snow grinned. (Baz hoped that that wasn’t going to become a common occurrence, his face wasn’t adapted to having so much blood rush to it.) “Why would I poison you? That would mean denying myself the joy of seeing your face when you realise I’m going to win.”

At that remark, he couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes. “You could’ve wanted to try subtlety for once in your life. Poison gives you a deniability that a sword does not – nobody could prove for sure whether it was you that killed me. This,” Baz gestured to the cereal, “is what I’d go for when killing you if I thought I’d be punished for my actions.”

Snow just stared at him. His grin had vanished.

“Of course,” Baz continued, “When _I_ kill you, there will be no need for subtleties. The old families will have taken over by then; they’ll have my portrait painted next to your dead corpse. I’ll be a hero.”

Baz looked up at the end of his ramble to see that Snow had leant towards him, his head ducked downwards as if in shock. “Why are you such a villain?” He sounded disgusted. “Why have you already thought of that?”

“I enjoy looking at my own face, especially when it has been painted by a good artist. Not so keen on your ugly mug ruining the picture, but you can’t have everything in life.”

“Or in death, considering it’ll be my corpse,” Snow mutters, “Fuck you then, I’m taking back the cornflakes.” He reached over the table, took the bowl, then began to shovel its contents. “Oh look, it’s _not_ poisoned,” He says with his mouth full, "What a bloody surprise.”

“Don’t be vile, didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?”

Baz realised the mistake he’d made the moment his words had aired but, strangely, they seemed to rejuvenate Snow.

“No,” He said cheerfully, “But the adults at the home did teach us not to stab other children with kitchenware, so I can put that on my CV.” He purposefully ate another mouthful of cornflakes. “Why, didn’t your mother ever teach _you_ it’s rude to talk about murdering your dinner guests?”

“I wouldn’t call you a _guest_ –“

“Simon,” Wellbelove greeted, because apparently, other people existed outside of their conversation. At some point she must've walked over because there she was, standing awkwardly at the end of their table. Baz didn't want to ponder on the fact he hadn’t heard her approach. (He had vampire hearing; how was that even possible?)

“Basilton.” She inclined her head in his direction. It appeared that she didn’t know what to do with her hands, or in fact her entire body. She kept eyeing up all the available seats as she hovered, so much so that Snow pulled out a chair for her. She hesitated, clearing thinking about Baz’s friends who normally occupied that space, a consideration that Snow obviously hadn’t dwelled on before _he_ sat down. Finally, she decided that the wrath of Dev and Niall would be worth encountering if it meant she could escape her current discomfort; she sat down in the offered chair.

Snow shovelled more of the topical cornflakes into his mouth, completely oblivious to the disagreeable position he had just placed his ex-girlfriend in.

Between the ex and the enemy…

Wellbelove opened her mouth, most probably in an attempt to make awkward small talk, but stopped as Baz averted his eyes from her.

His normal company were approaching.

Niall looking rather pissed off, Dev looking as though Christmas had come early.

“Basil dear, why the fuck is the chosen one in my chair?”

***

**Penny:**

“Why are you suddenly talking to him?

A shrug.

“Are you friends?”

Another shrug.

“This is legit though, right? This isn’t just some fucked up plan you and the mage have concocted?”

“Gee, thanks Pen.”

“I’m only checking Si; you’ve been unhelpful with my other questions.”

A smile. “Yeah. He’s my friend. I think, anyway. He’s still a tosser, but I don’t mind.”

A frown. “Does this mean you’re forcing me to have more than two friends?”

A grin. “I don’t think anyone could force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

***

**Baz:**

The next time he didn’t get Snow, but he got a near equivalent in terms of strangeness.

He got the presence of the sidekick.

**Penelope:**

She knew all about his love life, his deepest darkest desires, but it had occurred to Penny that she and Baz had never really had a proper conversation.

One that _didn’t_ involve dramatic stares and proclamations of unrequited love.

**Simon:**

This was the weirdest fucking thing.

He had come down to the great hall in search of food, but for once in his life, he had come to halt before he found anything to eat.

Because Baz and Penny were at a table. Alone _. Talking._

Simon didn’t move. He just stayed by the entrance watching, not thinking about the reasons the scene made him smile so much.

**Penny:**

**“** But Macbeth only did what he did because of his wife; ultimately, he is more redeemable than her.”

Penny almost choked on her tea.

“Are you kidding me? Lady Macbeth was cruel, yes, but she had been forcefully moulded to be that way by a society who punished women with opinions. She literally equivalates her ability to attain power with how masculine she was; if she would’ve been a man, she wouldn’t have become as toxic as she is at the climax of the play.”

Baz frowned. “That does not change the fact that Macbeth’s motivation was to appease his wife, whereas her motivation was to attain more power. She forced his hand.”

“She only had to result to murder _because_  society wouldn’t let her have power any other way! Plus, she didn’t _force_ him to do anything, she merely suggested it. He acted on his own free will. If I suggested that you go jump off a cliff, would you do it?”

“ _Well_ \- ”

-“No! Of course you wouldn’t! Because you would be acting on your own free will, just as Macbeth was.”

Penny leaned back in her chair, feeling victorious. However, Baz just smirked at her like a cat got the cream. “Ah,” He said, “But that implies that you think Macbeth had no pressures on him either. He had society giving him crap just like Lady Macbeth did – like you said, people equivocated manhood with power. ”

Her brow creased in frustration. “Yes, but not all men turned around and killed their kings, did they?”

“ _Yes_ , but not all women threw themselves off tower bridges, either.”

Her current state was an indignation that could only be experienced by true bookworms: that gut-wrenching, hair pulling feeling triggered by arguing about literature.

She was in her element.

Despite this, Baz must've been unable to see the joy behind her fisted hands and furrowed brows. He slackened his defensive stance. “I’m only humouring you Bunce, I actually agree with you. I just assumed that you didn’t often get to discuss the finer details of Shakespeare.

Penny had always believed that new friends should be tested before they truly earn that title. For example, if you meet someone who you like, insult them. If they can take the joke, they can be your friend.

She wasn’t going to insult him _outright,_ just (as he put it), humour him a little.

She frowned. “I don’t need to _discuss_ my favourite literature as I’m always right.”

“Oh really?” Baz raised an eyebrow. (Penny absently wondered if he practised that in the mirror.) “The amount of times you beg Snow to listen to your tirades about shitty YA novels begs to differ.”

Her face wiped of any mocking due to shock – how did he know that? Then, remembering herself, she crumpled up her features. “Oh please,” She was satisfied to hear that she sounded cynical. “Don’t play the literary superior here, you’ve definitely got a secret stack of mushy vampire novels hidden away somewhere.”

“I do _not_.” Baz scoffed.

“It’s probably your favourite genre of book; you’re all about those angsty, overcomplicated love stories. You’re such a Herondale.”

He leans forward, indignant. “I am _not_ Herondale scale dramatic.”

“ _Oh_ ," She stroked at her chin, faking introspection. "So you _do_ read YA - I knew it!”

Baz sighed theatrically as if the conversation was beneath him. Naturally, the act was all fake – Penny could see the threads of a smile tugging at his face, threatening to appear.

“Well, those books have downworlders. What can I say? I like to see myself represented.”

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch just made a vampire joke. To _her_.

**Simon:**

Penny was smiling, her large glasses touching her cheeks like they did when her face lit up. The sight created a warm fuzzy feeling in Simon’s gut.

He didn’t think she’d be moaning about having too many friends anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder to my American pals that both me and the characters are from the UK, where the drinking age is eighteen. If I've done my maths right, the students in their seventh year would be adults, so their drinking in this would not be considered underage.

The vibe in their room was strange.

Baz had hadn’t quite figured out where he stood with Snow, given the weirdness of their past month. When they were _outside_ , Snow poked fun at him with bright eyes, his comments followed with contagious laughter that Baz had to force himself not to become infected with. Instead, he would snarl back with some quip, but it still wouldn't be _normal_. He was neither deaf nor stupid - it was easy to _hear_ his change in tone as he addressed Snow, however, reverting it _back_ to hateful proved a much harder challenge. The words that flowed out of him had too much wit and not enough bite.

Apparently his outward disguise - the demeanour of a Pitch - was not as infallible as he once thought.

But that revelation didn't matter. _Nothing_ would change the unspoken rule that existed within their walls; in their room, they didn’t talk. Not even to bicker, not anymore.

The bedrooms of Watford students had been, for most people, the place where their first friendships were formed. As big headed, small-minded eleven-year-olds, relationships were created in extremely strange circumstances. When reflected on, it was hard not to see how inexplicable they were. For example, Gareth and Rhys' initial connection was founded not on common interests or awkward introductions - no, the catalyst for _their_ seven-year companionship was the fact that Rhys used a wheelchair.

The first time the two boys had met, the wheelchair had been a topic of keen conversation. Just _not_ in the way any adult would expect. 

After their discussion, the plan was set into motion.

The wheelchair was pushed to the top of Watford's biggest hill by Gareth; he was followed by many students who had responded to his call for 'an adventure'. (Baz, of course, had deemed the whole thing beneath him. He'd always possessed uncannily good judgement.) (Snow naturally spearheaded the gaggle of followers.) Rhys, due to his role of significant importance in the plan, sat at the bottom of the hill. He yelled out the countdown, making a pointed show of placing his hands over his ears. As soon as the word _GO!_ had past his lips the wheelchair was off, a screaming, cackling, limb-flailing child griping to it for dear life. Everybody's competitive streak came out as they awaited the end of the game; whoever had managed to bellow the loudest on the way down would emerge victorious. The process of selecting a winner was mostly democratic, but if a decision couldn't be reached, Rhys' word was law. Nobody defended this rule as fiercely as eleven-year-old Gareth: _"If the wheelchair is our ship, we have no better sailor than Captain Rhys!"_

People forgave his pompous manner of speaking due to the truth behind his words. Rhys declared the winner as he shot a special smile to his roommate. 

A wheelchair normalised, a friendship born. 

Baz had _never_ had anything remotely similar to _that_ bonding experience _;_ from day one, he and Snow had been enemies, bound together only by inherited loathing.  

In their room, years of animosity hung about in the air. How could their communication changes transition into their bedroom, where the only constant throughout time had been their mutual hatred? The contrast was just too much to bear, but that wasn't the only reason speaking was persistently avoided. 

Talking there felt too  _personal_. Too close to what a real friendship would be – what they could’ve _had_ , if they had been two completely different people.

Children with heads full of wheelchair races instead of wars.

It would be tempting fate, prodding at their fragile non-hatred that had only just started to occur.

Baz feared that if he pushed it, everything would fall apart.

Granted, they were hardly friends. It wasn’t the relationship that he could admit to himself, (but to no one else), that he wanted.

But he would take what he could get.

Which is why, when Snow suddenly opened his mouth, Baz was _terrified_.

**Simon:**

He had only wanted help with his Mage’s Lit essay, but Baz looked at him like he’d asked to share a bag of blood.

With both surprise, disgust and…

Something else.

**Baz:**

“Look, just forget I asked.” Snow was saying. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, unaware of the things he was doing to Baz’s heartbeat.

After years of thinking about it and vowing against it, Baz did it _again_. He crossed the palpable yet invisible line that separated the pair of them, sitting in Snow’s desk chair. Simon himself was on his bed, his lined paper leant against a hardback book. For some reason, Baz’s movement caused him to go on the defence.

“I’m not stupid,” He was saying, “I just find words difficult. And _besides_ ,” He leered over his assignment, “This subject is fucking stupid anyway.”

Baz put his hand out, motioning towards Snow’s work. “Let me see what you’ve got, then.” 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll just make fun of me.”

“I can’t _help_  if you don’t let me read your assignment.”

“Then _don’t_ help.”

A raised eyebrow was shot in his direction.

“Bollocks, fine, _fine_.” He moved hesitantly towards his desk, holding out the paper. “Here. Just don’t be a tosser.”

After reading the title of the essay, Baz had to restrain himself from asking questions. Snow had been set work on Fortunato Spring – she was a novelist in from the 19th century. She had power, granted, but her written works were mediocre at best. And Simon, despite being in a different lit class to him, was still a seventh year: he shouldn’t have been set a work by an author that was this simplistic. The book in front of him was fifth-year material.

Baz could feel he was being watched. Simon had retreated back to the comfort of his bed and was waiting, clearly anticipating some sort of wisecrack. He _knew_ that Baz knew Fortunato Spring wasn’t on their specification; the knowledge hung around, unsaid in the space between them.

And it was going to stay that way. He’d be damned if he proved Snow right.

For once, he was not going to be a prick.

“Your initial plan was good,” he said, “the bullet points show a lot of promise. Where you’ve gone wrong is your execution. Your paragraphs have no set point that they’re making, it’s like you’re trying to bring up every idea you’ve got in each section. Do one bullet point per paragraph, elaborate, then move onto your next point.”

Snow nodded, looking genuinely grateful for the advice. His eyes were awash with surprise at not being questioned – if Baz didn’t know his own history, he would’ve felt offended at how little faith the other boy had in him.

But then again, why would he have faith? Baz had been obnoxious towards him the whole time they’d known each other.

But _then again_ , Snow _had_ asked for his help.  

“You also might want to use a few more commas instead of full stops, it will give your writing a better flow.”

Teetering on the edge of his bed, Snow fidgeted with his feet. He put one toe inside the sock covering his other foot, moving it around without actually pulling it off.

“Go on, ask. There's clearly something else.” Baz said. 

“I just…” He hesitated, before going over to his desk. He leant over Baz’s shoulder, looking down at his work. “Where would you put a comma that I haven’t?”

Baz turned his head slightly, looking up at the hovering boy before catching himself. He turned his eyes back to the essay. “Like here,” He pointed, “You haven’t finished your sentence, but you've cut it off anyway.”

“How do you know that you should use one _there_ ,” mumbled Simon; Baz could feel his breath on his neck, “but not somewhere else?”

“Because when you speak out loud, you wouldn’t be finished talking at that point. You would pause slightly then keep going.”

“Oh,” Simon said. “Okay, thanks.” He took his sheet of paper back to his bed, leaning against the same poor book.

Instead of the expected silence filling the room once more, Baz listened as Snow muttered his essay under his breath, hearing the scratch of an additional comma every so often.

**

**Penelope:**

She loved Agatha like this.

Normally, her blonde counterpart was so _controlled._ So _reigned in_. It was like Penny was the loudspeaker to Agatha’s vinyl player.

Which is why these moments were so beautiful; the vinyl player screamed against its records, the needle scratching everything it used to play so pleasantly.

The sun was shining, Agatha was drunk ranting, everything was good in the world.

She could rant like nobody else.

Simon's head rested on Penny’s lap as she leant against a tree. Agatha was directly in front of them, however, she was anything but stationary. Pacing up and down she raged, her hands flying in all directions; she was a bonfire that had grown from a calming light.

Penny supposed that made sense. Fires do always get bigger when you fuel them with alcohol.

Agatha had had _a lot_ of cider.

Plus, the blonde had always been a lightweight. She provided both insight and entertainment; Penny could feel Simon’s shaking laughter against her thigh.

“He’s just so _stupid_ , running around in that freaking cape of his,” She slurred. The only time Agatha cussed was when she was pissed, and even then, she couldn’t always completely follow through. “It’s like he thinks he’s Superman. _Hey, twatbag_!” She turned to face Watford, bending to see around the disregarded hut that concealed them, “ _You aren’t superman! Superman is hot, and you’re like seventy-two_!”

In the olden days, comments such as this would've made Simon uncomfortable. However, his exposure to both herself and Agatha had affected (Or, she would argue, remedied) him over the years – the Mage had become slightly disillusioned in his eyes, mentor or not. So now, instead of trying to reason with Agatha’s tirades, he simply laughed.

Penny shifted slightly to reach for her cider, only vaguely registering how sticky the can had become. Like a tipsy Venus flytrap, Simon’s hands reached upwards as he tried to swipe the drink away from her. She only managed a few gulps before his flailing limbs grasped their target; he chugged the rest of her drink. Due to his position, not _all_ the liquid ended up in his mouth. Some of it dripped down the side of his face, staining her in the process.

“Hey!” She poked his face. “You owe me new jeans, you dribbling baby!”

Simon made a noise which Penny assumed was supposed to sound like a baby gurgle. In reality, it more closely resembled a whale's mating call.

Okay, perhaps Agatha wasn’t the _only one_ who was slightly tipsy.

“Do you know what he did the other day, that average-man mage?” She was still pacing, completely unaware of her friend’s distraction. “He had the nerve to drag me into his office!”

“To do what?” asked Simon as he tapped Penny’s face. Oh, _right_. She should be paying attention.

“To lecture me about my ‘life choices’.” She snorted. “As if my life has anything to do with _him_. That’s the problem with mages, you know. They think every little thing is their business, but it’s _not_. It’s our life, not theirs.”

_Our._

“Aggie,” Penny began before crinkling her nose. Had she really used the name  _Aggie_? “What did he say?”

“It was about you actually,” She pointed down at Simon’s face. “Supertwat is pretty obsessed with you, isn’t he? He wanted to know why we’d broken up, said it ‘effected your appearance to other mages’. As if I give a shit about how you _appear_ ,” She snatched the empty can out of Simon’s hands, crumpling up the metal and throwing it down savagely. “I care about who you _are_.”

This would’ve been too much to process sober; Penny didn’t know how her friend would react when drunk.

“Thank you.” He said, squinting up at Agatha. “I love you too.”

In a brief moment of sobriety, she stopped standing, instead crouching down to look Simon in the face. “Fuck him, okay?”

“Yeah,” Simon muttered, “Fuck him.”

“Fuck him!” Penny declared, raising her arms in victory. Simon and Agatha both turned from emotionally charged moment to look at her. “Sorry,” She giggled, “I just wanted to join in.”

“Oh, what a surprise, Bunce wants to join in with the fucking.”

Slowly, Agatha and Penny turned around.

Shit.

**Baz:**

They were a _travesty_.

Bunce was sprawled across the floor, school skirt completely caked in mud. Her stupid glasses were crooked on her face and her hand, clearly due to a spillage, had a layer of dust sticking to it.

Wellbelove, well… what _wasn’t_ a mess about her? The composed, put together aesthetic that she always favoured had been utterly destroyed by alcohol.  Her hair, which normally fell daintily around her face, had been shoved up into a haphazard bun. At some point during her drunkenness, she had clearly forgotten she was wearing makeup; mascara had been smudged all over her face from where she'd rubbed at her eyes. 

Baz could hardly stand to look at Snow. Head perched on Bunce, he looked bloody ethereal. Of _course_ , he couldn't have done Baz the favour of looking wrecked like his friends. His eyes were half closed. His cheeks had become flushed. And Aleister Crowley, his Hair. Was. Everywhere. Frizzing up in all directions, making his normal rats nest look like a perfected style.

Baz felt himself go a little weak at the knees.

“Oh,” Snow said, not even bothering to open his eyes, “Hi Baz. How’s life?”

He looked so content with his situation that he appeared unconcerned about Baz’s presence. Although this was probably just a testament to how drunk Snow was, Baz decided to interpret it as a sign of faith.

Bunce had a very different reaction. Her eyes widened in apprehension.

“Come over here,” Snow motioned, finally opening his eyes. “Stop standing there all... vertical.”

“Simon move _over_ ,” Agatha wined, going to sit down next to the pair of them. “I wanna lay down, and you’re hogging the only available pillow.”

“Excuse me,” Penny said, “I am _not_ a pillow!”

“Shhh.” Simon lifted his fingers up to Bunce’s mouth. “I didn’t sign up for a talking pillow.”

She shoved him off her lap.

“Huh, now I’m in the mud.” He opened his eyes once more, sitting up and looking around. “Come on,” Simon gestured towards him, “Make yourself useful. You’re always over _there_ , stony and unreachable. Come _here_.”

And because Baz was a weak weak man, he did.

**Simon:**

_He always looks so lonely_ , Simon thought _, I wonder why_.

Agatha had stolen his place on Penny’s lap.

He wasn’t about to stay laying in the mud. It was _uncomfortable_. It wasn’t _fair_.

So, in his drunken state, he decided to kill two birds with one stone.

**Baz:**

Apparently, when drunk Simon says he wants you to sit down, what he really means is that he wants somewhere else to place his head. Becuase, as soon as Baz lowered himself to sit, he gained a bronze mess of curls on his lap and a pair of blue eyes looking up at him.

It was a cruel world.

“Look at you,” Snow mumbled, “All straight-backed and proper.” He blinked up at him like he had just made out who Baz was. Then, his face grew into a shy smirk. “Am I offending you, Basilton?”

Years of practice at talking circles around people, gone in an instant. Baz could think of nothing of worth to say, so in the end, he just blurted out what he was thinking.

“No, but Crowley knows I’m going to need some of that drink.”

“Here!” Wellbelove said from beside them, handing an extra can over. “Penny! We have more left – I’m gonna have them _all_.” She made pincer like hand motions towards the drink. Bunce, who seemed to be sobering up by that point, grabbed her friend by the arm.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, let's get you back to your room.”

“No!” Agatha pouted, “If we leave, _they_ ” – she pointed at Baz and Simon –  “ will end up killing each other!” A mischievous smirk grew on her face. “ _Or_ – mmph!” Penny had placed a firm hand over the rambling mouth.

“I think they’ll be just fine. Come on, Aggie.”

The pair walked away, Agatha mumbling idiocies under her breath, Bunce shooting a raised eyebrow at Baz before turning towards Watford.

Snow tried to look behind at his leaving friends – his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. Realising his mistake, he simply looked back up at Baz.

“Why are you sad?” He asked.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can see it your eyebrows. Actually, in between your eyebrows.” Snow lifted his finger upwards to touch Baz’s face. “It always goes all creased there when you’re sad.”

He had no reply. Snow’s hand fell.

“It’s okay,” He continued, “I get sad too sometimes. Like when I think about my parents, or my purpose.”

“Your purpose?”

“To end the war.” In his drunken state Simon said this so matter of fact. Like it wasn’t a huge burden – a big thing to ask. But he clearly knew it was.

“That’s not your purpose, you idiot. You can do other things apart from that.”

“I know, I just forget sometimes. I get scared about the future ‘cuz I might not have one.”

A cold wall – one that Baz had thought was impenetrable – began to thaw. For once in his life, there, with a drunk Snow looking up at him without hate, he allowed himself to be soft. Just this once.

“You’re going to win Simon, course you are. Not because you’re destined to, but because you’re _you_. You’re a good thing.”

A smile, a movement, a hand held in his. _Snow’s_ _hand_ , tightening as if holding onto Baz would allow him to retain his kind words, to cement them into his memory.

It was time they went back to Watford. Simon was drunk and Baz’s heart couldn’t handle the glimpse into what affection he could receive. Affection he _never_ would receive if Snow were sober.

**Simon:**

Baz half carried him up the stairs to their room. Simon felt like he’d lost something behind their wooden shed. He wanted to go back and look for it, but Baz wouldn’t let him.

That made Simon sad. It meant that Baz didn’t think anything they’d left outside was worth finding.

He didn’t let go of Simon’s hand though. They were connected, fingers interlocked, until Baz laid Simon down on his bed.

“Go to sleep, you utter nightmare.”

For some reason, the lack of Baz’s hand in his made him even sadder. He felt even more lost than before.

***

**Baz:**

The inevitable happened: they woke up.

Normally he was a late sleeper. He had to force himself out of bed and back into reality every morning; the process felt painful. But that morning, getting up wasn’t the problem.

Getting back to sleep was.

Baz woke up early, the sun shining through the closed window. (Snow was too plastered to open it the night before.) He tried to turn around, to get back to the blissful unawareness that was sleep, but his brain wouldn’t shut off.

It was like when you have to do something important in the morning but you forget to set an alarm. Sometimes, your body does you the common courtesy of waking you up anyway, like it knows how imperative it is that you get where you need to be.

Except that day, being conscious wasn’t a courtesy; it was a curse.

A dramatic thought, but Baz was hardly feeling rational.

Snow was going to kill him due to his own mortification.

They had been on the way to something. But now, with him taking Baz’s hand (Because _he_ did that, Baz frantically tried to rationalise), the whole thing was going to go to shit.

He should’ve not taken it. If he hadn’t, maybe he and Snow could’ve tried to go back to normal.

He would just have to try and implement that strategy regardless. Ignore Snow's drunken, inexplicable, intoxicating show of affection, and try and go back to normal. Whatever the hell that was these days.

Maybe then he wouldn’t lose Snow completely.

A movement was coming from the other side of the room – he braced himself for the recollection of memories, for the explosion that would inevitably accompany the puzzle pieces being put back together. 

Instead, what he got was a hungover teenager, curling up in a ball and groaning.

“Snow?” He asked hesitantly.

“ _Eughhhh_.” The other boy was eloquent as always. “Either fuck off or go get me some water. Just don’t talk.”

_Okay,_ Baz thought _, I can do that. But… where is the explosion? The crisis that accompanies the realisation that you had held hands with your enemy?_

He could deal with an angry snow. He could sneer his way out of that situation. What he couldn’t deal with was this: the unknown.

“Come  _on,_ Pitch! Someone is doing the kan-kan inside my head!”

Right. Water. He got up from his bed and poured a glass.

**Simon:**

Everything was easier now.

Well, not _everything_. Moving wasn’t easier in that precise moment; Simon would rather chop off a limb than leave his bed. But he would say that the hangover may have been worth it. He felt good about last night.

He felt they had solved something. Or, at least they had started it.

**Baz:**

He managed to sit up for the water, though the action looked like it pained him slightly. He grabbed the glass, gulping it down without drawing breath.

“Do you know any hangover spells?” He croaked out.

“I do.” Snow's hand emerged from his duvet cocoon to gesture between himself and Baz. _Come on,_ it said _, bring on the magic_.

“I won’t be using any on you, though.”

“Why _not_?” He buried his face into his pillow, the action so pitiful that Baz almost gave in. “Is this another way that you plan to torture me?”

“Damn, you caught me! I somehow ensured you got slaughtered with your friends just so I could watch you suffer.”

“ _Fine_ _,_ this wasn’t you. So spell me human again. My heads gonna fall off if someone keeps banging at it like this.”

Baz rolled his eyes. “You drunk yourself into this mess – although I don’t know how, it was only cider, you weaklings – so you will be gritting your teeth out of it.”

Snow shot him a deathly look, one that Baz was sure he’d learnt from him. “You _are_ evil. I always knew I was right. Fuck off then if you’re not gonna help me, your presence is too loud.”

His jaw set. “No. I’m not going to cater to your every whim and demand, Snow. I’ll be staying right here.”

Instead of looking defeated, a sense of victory surrounded Simon at those words – a sense that made Baz very nervous indeed.

“Good,” He said, “That means we can talk about last night.”

Baz inhaled. His eyes widened.

Then, he left.

**Simon:**

Okay, this whole starting something business may be harder to get rolling than he'd first expected.


	9. Chapter 9

**Baz:**

The mage was such an idiot.

Before his ridiculous reforms, Watford had studied only subjects that were prestigious and important. Granted, the range of options available had been limited, but that was a  _necessary_ precaution _._  It ensured that every skill in a students capability was honed in, refined to perfection. Plus, it wasn't like there were only magickal subjects on offer: students learnt not only how to control their powers, but how to wield their words. 

What was not on the curriculum, however, was Science.

It was just so _pointless_ , so _dull._  In any decent lesson, Baz was set after one glance at the board; the knowledge would just seep into his head, unblocked and understood. He didn't even have to _try_ \- confusion rarely ever paid _him_ a visit. (On the contrary, it did like seeing the chosen one; Confusion loved to take an extended holiday on Snow's face midway through a lesson.)(Seriously, the vacation was so frequent, Snow should really start charging it rent money. Beffudlment was to Snow what a thirty-year-old homebound child was to its parent - both need to learn when it is time to move out, for they have outstayed their welcome. )

Baz was intelligent. He did not need aid from anyone, ever.

...Unless he was in a science classroom.

Then, that stupid thirty year old would invade _his_ features, furrowing his brows and making his mouth agape. Confusion and Baz would become one. No matter how hard he looked, the scientific diagrams and theorems just wouldn’t enter his head.

Which meant that the subject was stupid.

Why should he – Basilton Grimm-Pitch, a man brimming with magick – have to learn how a plant survives when he can make one grow just by commanding it? Why should he have to care about the composition of the soil, when the only thing it did for him was provide something to walk upon as the impossible came out of his wand? Science didn't care about magick: it just went on its merry way, making up rules for the most inexplicable things.

The whole subject was preposterous for Mages, so of _course_ , the only person who liked it was Snow.

He came alight in the science labs. (Not due to the open flame Bunsen burners, he could control those.) The idiot would walk around, knowing things, _enjoying_ himself; it really did get under Baz’s skin. (It was also very attractive, seeing Snow in his element - being practical and competent - but he tried not to dwell on that.)

The problem was, Baz had homework and for the first time in his life, he had no idea how to do it.

The dilemma was  _inescapable_. He either forfeited his deadly academic competition with Bunce, or, Nicks and slicks forbid, he had to ask Snow for help.

He hadn’t spoken to the other boy since their last discussion – the one that had ended with Baz storming away, unable to deal with the whole wretched circus. Handholding, inevitable denial and inconvenient crushes would not mix well in any universe, but Baz simply couldn't handle the resulting conversation. Not then, not _ever,_ which is why his current problem really wasn’t conveniently timed: _Hey Snow, I know you think I’ve gone mad for holding your hand, but would you help me with my homework?_

He hadn’t decided to commit to that awkward exchange just yet, so he had settled for slyly watching Snow from the other side of the room. He was being masterfully stealthy about it; the other boy was so obliviously absorbed in his comic that he hadn’t noticed.  

**Simon:**

Baz kept staring at him. Simon would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it.

**Baz:**

Oh, fuck it. He really needed to beat Bunce.

“Snow?”

His head quickly snapped up. “Oh, so _now_ you want to talk? Seriously?”

“ _Obviously_ , otherwise I wouldn’t have said your ridiculous name.”

There was a pause.

Blue eyes were widened in expectation, Grey eyes were closed in _hesitation_. The former leant forward, the latter wanted to leave. Again.

"Well, come on then," Simon said, "Out with it! Let's hear what _you_ think is more important than _my_ very pressing questions!"

Baz was pretty sure that he was the only Pitch that had ever lived to be reduced to such a shameful situation. Pitches didn't ask for help, they simply got on with it, preferably in a way that was better than anyone else.

He felt a little sick. “Just… give me a moment.”

Simon rolled his eyes mightily, crossing his legs on top of his covers. He threw his hands up in mock defeat. “You don't  _want_ to talk about my thing, you _can’t_ talk about yours. Why do you even bother talking?”

“Says the boy who can’t spit out a simple spell.” Baz said automatically.

Simon slouched on his bed, raking at his hair. “Jesus Christ. Do you ever _not_ go for the lowest blow? Like, do you ever think, ‘maybe I shouldn’t say the most cruel thing right now?”

“I’m trying to be efficient.”

“No, you’re _trying_ to avoid the question.”

They glared at each other. Sometimes, it felt like that was all they knew how to do: look at each other, eyes squinted, eyebrows arched. Snow broke the silence.

“What do you _want_?”

Baz sighed. “I want you to help me with my homework.”

Did Snow appreciate Baz’s honesty? Did he reply sincerely with a ‘Yes, I will!’ Or, did he even respond quickly in the negative, shutting down the awkward interaction?

No, of course he didn’t.

The bastard started laughing.

Full on, head rocking back and forth, snort-inducing laughter. The kind that, when elicited from Snow, had Baz feeling a sick sort of happiness in his belly that he couldn't get rid of.

“ _That’s_ how you go about getting me to help you?” Snow asked between laughs, “By acting all superior and insulting me?”

Baz didn’t dignify this uncivilised behaviour with a response. (Mainly because he was at a loss at what to say.)

“Wow,” Snow exclaimed, “You really are a messed-up bloke. Bit of advice, you aristocratic wanker: When you want a favour, don’t be a dick. People don’t exist to aid you.”

“Duly noted, captain consultation,” Baz replied, before a smile set onto his face. He couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t.

“What?”

“So… Will you help me?”

Simon looked like he wanted to grumble about Baz’s treatment a while longer, but his face spoke of a greater determination. Baz didn’t know what it was for – he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The other boy moved over to Baz’s desk, their positions resembling a couple days previous, but this time their actions were reversed.

This time, Snow was the helper. Baz didn’t like it.

“You don’t understand _this_?” He failed to keep the shock out of his voice.

“Flashback to a few seconds ago when you were telling me not to be a dick?”

Snow placed a careless hand on Baz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s just… _really_?”

Baz spun around on his chair to face Snow, one leg either side of the seat. “Yes, really. Science is a stupid subject, and I don’t get along with stupid things.”

“This isn’t just science, this is _biology_.” The excitement was audible in his tone. Apparently, he not only liked the subject but was invigorated by it. “And you’re looking at a diagram of a plant like it’s a foreign species you’ve never seen before.”

He bristled. “It’s not like I need to know this anyway. There is no point in learning all this stuff, just like there’s no point in anything your mage does.”

“Just because _you_ can’t do it doesn’t mean there's no worth in it. Biology is _important_. It's getting to know the world around you, truly understanding why living things work the way it do.”

 _Wow,_ Baz thought _, I have discovered Snow: the first-class geek._

Simon leaned over the desk, his face contorting in concentration. “So, look. The soil contains moisture. The water is drawn up the root hair cells via active transport, which uses energy from respiration.” Baz spun around and started scribbling down the comments being made. But, he wasn’t intaking any of the information. Instead, his focus was solely on Simon, despite his eyes being on the page. “At the same time water is being lost on the surface of the leaves via the Stomata; this loss means that more water has to be drawn up, making the constant transpiration stream.”

Baz blinked. “I mean, that’s great and all, but it doesn’t explain why the plant they picked had to be so ugly. If the teachers want me to care about this shit, they could at least make it nice looking.”

“It’s a _scientific diagram_. It’s not meant to be cool looking. At least your one has leaves in it. My homework these days is all apparatus and circuit symbols. I get given a whole lot of chemistry, biology not so much. I kind of miss it.”

Then, Snow proceeded to look reminiscent. About _plants_.

“Why are we studying different things?”

“Oh,” He moved away from the desk and sat on his bed, looking down. If Baz wasn’t mistaken (which he rarely was), the boy looked mildly abashed. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

It _probably_ wasn’t anything of the kind – Baz’s mind was whirling. So, Simon was doing different, probably harder (If Baz was completely honest with himself) content in science, yet he was still at the basics for lit. At Watford, you have to maintain a decent grade average to avoid getting kicked out. Snow was good at one and bad at the other. Did his teachers cut him some slack because the two subjects balanced each other out?

Thinking further, Baz realised even that wasn’t possible. If his good science grades only compensated for his low level at lit, then Snow would still be at the bottom of the year - his magick meant that his spells (and therefore grades) in other subjects were iffy at best.

Baz hated that he knew this, (he had always been a snob about the leaderboards), but Snow had always just been average. Nowhere near the top like himself and Bunce, but not drastically far behind either.

Which meant that his science was compensating for a lot more than just lit.

“When do you learn all your chemistry stuff? It's not like we learn it in class.”

Snow picked his comic up off his desk. He proceeded to mumble something incomprehensible as he flicked through the pages.

"Did _you_ even hear what you just said? Becuase I haven't the faintest, and I'm reliably informed that my hearing ability is above average."

"I said," Snow whispered, his voice sounding slightly hesitant, "That I run Watford's science club."

Baz did something very un-Pitchlike. He gawked.

“What?” He leant forward, “Do I have shit on my face?”

Baz shook his head. Crowley, Snow was _blushing_. Was _he_ blushing? Had somebody spelled their room to hold the curse of the inescapable blush?

“Watford has a _science_ club?”

 _You do things_ outside _of being the chosen one?_

**Simon:**

Baz was glaring at him like he was an exhibit in a zoo. Simon found he enjoyed that significantly less than the normal looks he received.

Along with the alienating glare, Baz had started mumbling under his breath.

"You know," Simon began, " _I've_ recently been informed that its bad to be incoherent -"

Baz cut him off. “How the hell do you like _science_ over everything else? Is it because it's the only thing you're mildly good at?”

Simon ignored the insult – they felt sort of obligatory at this point. Instead, he hoped that an exchange could occur here.

If he opened up, then, just maybe, Baz would too.

**Baz:**

“Words are…” Simon began, “difficult for me. They’re selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“They take up too much space.”

Simon put both hands around the back of his neck – he was clearly uncomfortable, but Baz couldn’t stop his curiosity. He wanted to keep learning. Having the status of an enemy for so long had done nothing to dim his inexplicable fascination towards Simon Snow. He was in love with him yes, but did he really know him? Previously he had thought so, but as their relationship had begun to develop into… _whatever_ this was, Snow had begun to shed the outer layers of himself. Baz was finally getting to see Simon, not the chosen one, and he was determined to _keep_ seeing. To keep peeling back those layers until he found the core, the truth.

“I don’t understand,” Baz said, getting up from his desk and sitting on the bed, his crossed legs parallel to Snow’s.

“See!” He leaned forward as if imploring Baz to understand. “You can’t escape them. I need words to explain to you why I hate them, but I can’t use them if I can’t find them. The cycle just goes around and around and around until I'm left crying on the floor.”

“Well congratulations,” Baz said, “That was rather eloquent.”

That earnt him a shove on the shoulder.

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

“I know.” he smiled. It was almost tender.

“Science is different. I don’t feel like I’m drowning in fancy language because somebody taught me the words to use. After that, it’s just about applying the knowledge you already have, because the rules are the same each time. Language doesn’t have rules.”

“That’s why _I_ love it so much. If every story followed a formula, nobody would want to read. You don’t have to stick by the instructions made by some old Normal hundreds of years ago – you get to do what _you_ want to do.”

Snow was looking at him with amusement, a dash of something else in his eyes.

“You can’t tell me you don’t like stories; I’ve seen you read those comic things.”

“They’re _graphic novels_.” He sounded mildly affronted. “And they’re the best, so put a sock in it.”

**Simon:**

Silence began to fall, and he could see Baz finally begin to wonder how he had got there. He was sitting with his former nemesis, on a bed, having a chat about words.

Baz’s problem was this: he thought too much. He was always trying to find out what things meant. He could almost feel the rising doubt as it grew in the other boy, and Simon wanted to ask him what he was so scared of.  He didn’t, instead offering up some more truth.

“I never said I didn’t like stories,” He looked up to Baz’s face, to the eyes that were so very grey, “I love them when other people are telling them. I think that’s why…” He trailed off.

“Why what?”

He felt himself redden. “I think that’s why I like hanging around with you and Penny so much. You can find the words when I can’t. I like listening to you.”

It was the truth, but Simon worried regardless. Was he about to get bitten by an insulted vampire? Crowley, the irony, dying at by a vampire’s fangs, not for attacking them, but by _complementing_ them...

Baz swallowed. “You like hanging out with me?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I like this. I much prefer this to fighting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The biology in this chapter is what I vaguely remembered from my GCSE. If it's wrong, blame the school system.  
> 2) I know that Baz having such disdain for science doesn't really fit with him going to Londons school of economics. That idea disrupts my headcanon that Simon is the sciencey one and Baz is the English nerd one, so... whatever.  
> 3) If this story doesn't update for two weeks, don't worry about it being abandoned. I'm off on holiday, and i have no idea what the wifi situation will be. If I can get decent internet then updates will continue as normal, if not, I'll see you in a fortnight!


	10. Chapter 10

**Penny:**

Things seemed to be going rather well, considering she'd barely even begun to set her plan in motion. Granted, the new reality of things was different, but it felt _right_. Like something,  _finally,_ was going their way.

They sat with Baz every dinnertime now. Despite everything, they had formed something of a solid unit. Penny obviously sat next to Simon. (Things may have changed, but they hadn’t changed _that_ much. She saw no reason to break a standard that had seen them through seven years.) Her best friend was the same as he’d always been: a strange mix of oblivious and observant, still trying to navigate his way through life, albeit with a bigger smile on his face than was usual.

Penny also sat next to Agatha, who’d remained the same in all the ways that mattered, but who also seemed just seemed  _lighter_. It was as if a dark shadow had been removed from her existence, allowing the sun to shine on her once more. Shadows were, after all, a product of another person's presence; if caught hovering in their shade for too long, one could forget the shape of their own silhouette. Agatha had a lost the grasp on who she really was, so the removal of confining expectations meant she could rediscover herself. Find out who she was when her own shadow was left alone to make its impression on the earth.

She was doing well.

They all were.

The term ‘ _all_ ’ had come to include two new people when Penny was referencing their group, despite her doing the opposite of seeking out  _more_ new friends.

Apparently, Basil’s company guaranteed more than one presence and there was nothing she could do about it.

The newbies - the _invaders -_  pleasantly surprised Penny. (A fact that she was reluctant to inform Simon about as he would be very smug about the whole thing.)

Dev frequently talked to her; she found his companionship to be quite tolerable. Granted, their communication was predominantly done via eye contact, but it _did_ count. Their topic of conversation was _sensitive_ : they could hardly discuss Baz and Simon _in front of_ Baz and Simon, could they?

The knowledge that was shared between them was vital to Penny’s sanity. At some points, it had been the only thing preventing certain comments from slipping out. Comments that _really_ shouldn’t be aired.

***

“Basilton,” Agatha began shyly. She still hadn’t begun to call Baz by his nickname – Penny supposed it was a protocol from upper-class breeding, one that gave a certain respect that perhaps Baz would appreciate. The blonde was trying, for Simon’s sake. “Forgive me for asking, but why is it that you never eat without covering your mouth? It's not like we're sticklers for manners.” She shot a pointed look in Simon’s direction.

To anyone else, Baz would’ve looked as if he maintained a neutral composure. Penny knew differently. Simon had been studying this boy for years, meaning that by default, she had been studying him too. She could now tell when he was happy, nervous, or, as the case was then, attempting to avoid something.

Baz blinked and washed his face of all previous emotion.

He brought the coffee cup to his lips, biding his time and using it to concoct an answer. Simon, after looking worriedly between Baz and Agatha, beat the former in his reply.  

“They don’t serve salt and vinegar crisps at dinner,” He said with a grin, “So this freaky eater,” He poked Baz’s side, “doesn’t want to know.”

Baz’s eyes narrowed. “Snow, your numpty side is showing again. You’re talking utter crap.”

“Oh, please,” said Simon. “I’m not deaf you know, nor blind. I can hear you munching at midnight just as well as I can see the crumbs that appear afterwards.”

“I do not,” Baz protested, “Do any of that. Don’t listen to him, Wellbelove.”

“Her name is _Agatha_ ,” Simon defended, despite the amusement on Agatha’s face clearly conveying her lack of offence. “And no, _you_ should listen to _me_. If you insist on eating gross crisps as Cinderella escapes the ball, could you at least do it outside? They stink up the whole room – I have to open the window.”

“Firstly, that says a lot about your taste if you think salty crisps are gross. Secondly, don’t even get me started on that bloody window…”

The two continued to bicker mindlessly, much to the amusement of Agatha. Penny and Dev, however, were talking.

_They sound like an old married couple_ , Penny said via her squinted eyes.

_It’s been seven years,_ Dev said (Or at least, Penny thought he did – his eyes were agreeable), _They practically are by this point._

_**_

“There’s just no point watching the world cup if you’re invested in England,” Dev said. “It’s just going to make you sad.”

Niall raised a glass in mocking agreement. He didn’t talk much, Penny had noted – she couldn’t quite tell whether it was because their presence made him uncomfortable, or whether he was just a quiet guy. Neither option seemed fully true, if she was completely honest. Mostly, he just looked confused.

“That’s why I’ll be backing Egypt,” said Baz. “At least that means that when we lose, I won’t be feeling the same sadness as every fifty-year-old white man across the country; I would hate to have something in common with _them_.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste, before turning to Simon expectantly. “Well?”

Simon looked up. He had been absorbed in a rather large scone.

“What?”

“The cup? Who do you think will win it?”

Simon grinned before taking a huge bite out of his food. “Well, it's in your hands at the moment, serving a noble purpose.” He gestured to Baz’s coffee between mouthfuls. Penny saw that Baz now looked accustomed to this behaviour. She would even go as far as saying he seemed secretly endeared by it. “So, if you’re competing against someone for it, well, I think you’ve pretty much nailed the win.”

“Ha ha bloody ha,” Baz sneered, confiscating Simon’s plate in retribution. Simon attempted to swipe it back, but Baz held it beyond his reach. In a testament to how much he loved those scones, Simon stood up as he tried to retrieve them. (He hated having to admit that Baz was taller. This movement would’ve killed him in normal circumstances.) In response, Baz stood up too. “No way,” He said as he stretched, “Not until you tell us who you’re backing. You’re being a cliché with England, I assume?”

Accepting defeat, Simon shrugged and sat down. “I don’t really care about the world cup.”

“Crowley,” Baz snorts as he sat down also. “That means it’s _really_ bad. Do you have a union jack hat hidden away somewhere?”

Simon used the opportunity to snatch back his food. Satisfied, he began to eat again. “Nah, I just don’t care about it. It’s boring, watching other people kick a ball about. I like rugby better.”

_Oh, Simon_ , Penny thought, _you do know how to put your foot in it_.

“Come off it!” Baz exclaimed, “You’ve watched every football game I’ve ever played; doesn’t sound like you hate it _that_ much. Just tell us who you support.”

A slight blush began to form on Simon’s tawny skin, so instead of opening his mouth to the jumbled words that would give his embarrassment away, he simply went with his default response: A shrug.

“Unless you really did only come to my practice to distract me,” continued Baz. “I wouldn’t put it past you, you prick.”

Simon frowned. “Why would me coming to your practice distract _you_?”

This time, it was Basil who blushed. Penny smiled and looked over at Dev.

_And people think he’s the master of deception,_ Penny said through her rolling eyes.

Dev rolled his in return. _The only person he’s convincing here is Snow._

Simon had started to innocently eat his scone again. Penny and Dev looked at him with pity.

**

Monday’s were the healthiest night, which was a problem for Simon. Not because he was particularly _unhealthy_ – discounting his butter consumption, the boy was pretty average. No, the problem was that his worst enemy was included in the meal.

If Baz still laboured under the delusion that _he_ was Simon’s nemesis, Penny knew him to be severely mistaken. That role went to something that (in her best friend’s opinion) was much direr.

Broccoli.

Penny wasn’t too fond of the veggie either, which is why every Monday, without fail, she left it on her plate untouched. That way, when their plates magically disappeared the broccoli went with it; she never had to suffer through its wretched taste.

Simon, however, had a phobia of non-empty plates.

She suspected the fear had stemmed from his time at the orphanages – on occasion, he would tell her about them. It sounded like he was expected to live off a little and be damn grateful for that he did receive. Leaving his plate unclear would not have been an option.

Old habits die hard, she guessed.

Either way, he would never leave a meal unfinished. He always ate it all, despite his hatred towards Monday’s servings.

Until.

“Want my broccoli?” Simon asked Baz, nudging the other boy’s arm with his elbow. “You like the green bastards, you’re sick like that.”

“Sure,” said Baz. He used his own fork to transfer the vegetables from one plate to another, eating a couple of the extra Broccoli in the process.

Dev, grinning, vocalised the question she had also thought before realising the answer was obvious.

“How did you know Baz liked broccoli?”

“Oh,” said Simon, sounding the opposite of abashed, “that’s easy. Back in our good ol' nemesis days, me and Baz used to have staring contests across the - ”

-“He just knew!” Real daggers were in Baz's stare. “Didn’t you, Simon?”

Daggers were met with a smile. “Whatever you say, honeybunch.”

_I can’t eat **my**  food over this flirting, _Penny said via her widening eyes.

_Oh, you love it really._ Dev winked back.

She rolled her eyes before conceding. _I do, at that._

_***_

**Dev:**

He didn’t know how long it had been. Like a man drowning at sea, he had lost count of the days. All he knew was this: it had been long enough. Those aboard the ship with him clearly weren’t going to take any action to save themselves, so the responsibility had fallen on Dev’s shoulders.

A real discussion with Penelope was in order.

***

**Penny:**

He cornered her outside of politikal science.

“Penelope!” As he ran towards her, Penny noted that he was out of breath, a fact that was surprising for someone so frequent on the football pitch. “Just -” He heaved in, “ – wait up a second.”

She slowed her pace down but didn’t stop completely; people were walking between lessons, she didn’t want to cause a pileup. Besides, halting her movements when all she wanted to do was go really wasn’t her style. If you stop for every person that asks, you’ll never get anywhere.

After several seconds Dev caught up with her, mumbling curses under his breath. She caught the tail end of one of his comments: “- fuck me  _sideways_ , stop _moving_.”

She turned around to reply but didn’t stop her rampage onwards. “I won't be fucking you in _any_ direction.” A smirk filled her face, “I’d never date a man who couldn’t keep up with me.”

“What, the _American_ made the cut?” He was still deeply inhaling.

“Oh yes,” She said. “He’s quite the mover, my Micah. Long legs.”

He looked her up and down. “Well, they do say that opposites attract.”

“Shut it, or I will kick you with my stumpy legs.”

Despite their teasing, a slight uncertainty still existed between them. After all, all they had done was look at each other and exchange bland pleasantries in class. But, their dynamic wasn’t filled with boredom, quite the opposite. They _were_ careful not to say anything too outlandish, but that hesitation wasn't conceived in apathy. There was optimism in the atmosphere as they walked. It was the wonderful feeling of being around someone new: you found yourself yearning for a time when you wouldn’t have to hold your tongue, for you would be at ease. Your intent would be clear as soon as your words were uttered.

Penny found herself hoping that her total of two and a half friends would stretch to three.

She didn’t know who she was anymore.

The pair of them walked outside the castle and into the grounds, regardless of Penny’s intention to go study in the library. Even though Dev had been the one chasing _her_ , somehow the situation had been flipped on its head; he was now the one directing their movements. For some reason, Penny was following him.

What could she say? She was curious.

When they reached a stone bench near the tower, their twittering of inconsequential conversation was brought to a halt. They sat without verbal agreement, Dev looking at Penny as if he were fit to burst.

“Go on then,” She sighed, “There's no time like the present.”

Dev tried (and failed) to appear unbothered. “For what?”

Raising her eyebrows, she gestured to him with impatience. "For whatever this is!”

The conflict was clear in the boy’s composure. It appeared that a battle of want versus nature was going on inside of him – it felt like, for some reason, he was unwilling to give up an upper hand. _Not_ that he had an upper hand with her, but apparently, he _thought_ he did. Silently Penny cursed aristocratic upbringing; it had taught that one must never ask for help to a boy who seemed very open by nature. Unlike Baz, who seemed to enjoy the mystery of solidarity, on Dev it just seemed wrong. Like he had gone into his wardrobe and been forced to wear a robe that wasn’t his colour.

She sighed. “Whatever it is, it can be secret, if that’s what you want. Just don’t pretend it's nothing. It’s okay to ask for help.”

Apparently, these words were all that was needed. His question burst out of its contains without any sort of finesse. “You know, don’t you?”

She looked at him in slight confusion. He raised his eyebrows in return, maintaining eye contact with her.

_Oh._

“Yes,” Penny said. “I do.”

He looked relieved. “How do you do it then? How do you remain unbothered? All I want to do is smash their heads together.”

Swallowing, she made a split second decision. “I can be normal with them now because I’m planning to help them. Not that they know it, of course.”

“How?”

He looked earnest in his intentions which weakened her resolve slightly. Plus, there had been a slight kink in her plan for a while now, one that she had hoped would flatten out with time.

Well, time had brought her Dev. If she could trust him, he could be exactly what she had been waiting for.

“By giving them the truth. We are going to give them the beginning they deserve.”

_We._ A smile began to form on Dev’s features.

“So here’s what will happen…”

**Simon:**

“Wait,” He said, “Why are you giving this to me again?”

He held a small box between his thumb and his forefinger. It was grey in shape and that was the only notable thing about it. The surface was smooth, it didn’t appear to be made of a special material, it wasn’t reflective in any way. It was cold to the touch.

“Because I’m sick of your shit.”

“Yes, I got _that_ bit, I just want to know _why_. Please Pen, if I’ve done something to piss you off - ”

 “Tell me you hate me.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just do it!” She sounded so annoyed at him that he complied, reasoning be damned. He couldn’t stand it if he and Penny fought.

“I… hate you?”

The box heated up in his hand with such intensity that he dropped it on the carpet. Penny immediately scrambled to retrieve it, a satisfied smirk on her face. For a moment he just watched her, shaking his potentially burnt hand.

“What the fuck just happened?”

“A demonstration,” She grabbed his hand, inspecting the scalded area. For some insane reason, Simon observed Penny’s smirk grow into a full-on smile as she noted the intensity of the redness. She led him out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. Placing his hand in the sink, she turned on the cold tap and then sat on the edge of the bathtub. “The more severe the lie, the more intense the warmth.”

Simon cranked the tap up more; his hand, by that point, felt as if he’d skimmed it over an erupting volcano. “Pen, what is going on?”

A fresh determination washed over Penny, apparent by set in her jaw, the slight widening of her eyes. She looked like a woman who had resigned to her changing surroundings and was now set on embracing them. “It’s a truth box. I’ve spelled it with **nothing but the truth** \- ”

Simon gaped. “That’s an eighth-year spell! And,” he added as an afterthought, “It’s  _illegal_.”

Penny ignored him. “When you tell the truth, the box remains cold. When you tell a lie, it warms up. It only works for you; I could hold the box right now, lie through my teeth, and be absolutely fine. Be warned, the magick sometimes takes a while to detected falsehood, so the heating up may be delayed if the lie is deeply rooted in you.” She paused. “Thanks for intensely not hating me.”

“I... But… Why?”

“Well, I’m down to one and a half friends if _you_ hate me.”

“Not _that_ , why have you given it to me?”

“Because I’m sick of your shit, although you are not as bad as _he_ is.”

It was moments like this that Simon wondered if he was exceedingly thick. Sometimes, when Penny talked, the only word that could describe him was lost.

Looking at his expression, Penny’s features softened slightly. “You’re just going to have to trust me. How’s your hand?”

He ran his thumb over the burnt finger and winced. Penny in response turned off the tap and cast **Get better soon!**  which lessened the redness significantly.

“Perfect.” She said, taking his newly healed hand into her own, “Come on, you’ve got somewhere to be.”

**Baz:**

Dev had given him some box. Ordinary blue in colour, so small that it could be gripped with two fingers.

“I’m all for spontaneous presents,” He began with a quirked brow, “but this seemed like a pretty shit gift. Even worse than that time you bought me eyeliner because you thought that being gay meant being a girl.”

Dev rolled his eyes. “I was _ten_ , I was _uneducated_ , and I was _trying_  to be _supportive_. Plus, it's not like you knew I gave that to you because I ‘figured it out’. I only told you that later in _trust_. ” Upon seeing Baz’s lingering judgemental look, his eyes became narrow. “Also, don’t try and tell me you didn’t love wearing that stuff.”

“There are matters more pressing than this topic,” Baz said loftily. He held the blue box between them as a question.

“Right,” Dev said, a warning in his face, “Shut up and let me explain…”

**

**Simon:**

Penny led him to a tree with an envelope tagged to the trunk. He was instructed that he was not allowed to open it ‘until he arrives’, whoever the bloody hell _he_ was. Simon had tried to badger more information out of Penny, but she was as stubborn as she was relentless, so he could gain nothing from her.

Besides, she left before he could even form any words.

Leaving him sitting underneath a reclusive tree. Alone.

**Baz:**

Snow was sat under Dev’s instructed tree. Baz went to open his mouth, potentially to tell him to go away (he hadn’t quite decided yet), but the other boy beat him to it.

“Oh,” He said, sounding enlightened, “So _you’re_ him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the initial draft of this chapter was written while the world cup was going on and yes, I did use it after the Croatia game to express my annoyance. Sue me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Baz:**

“I’m _what_?” 

A tingle that felt strangely like apprehension was beginning to work its way up Baz's spine. His bodily instincts, for some reason, called for him to run, get away from both the tree and the boy beneath it before something awful happened. 

The area under the old sycamore was using change as its heart - the main thing that was keeping this moment alive was the forbearing promise of variation, pumping unquestionable yet undefinable fear into his very being. 

The events that were about to unfold would seek to alter him, therefore he didn't _want_ them.

“ _Him._ ” Snow pulled the envelope of off the tree behind him and waved it back and forth.

No reason had yet presented itself which would allow Baz to leave without looking completely mental. Maybe it was that thought that prompted him to sit down opposite Snow, maybe it was the sliver of curiosity that coexisted alongside his fear. Either way sat, scowled, then snatched the paper out of the Snow's grasp with one hand. Baz's other was concealing that damn box, due to the fact he had promised Dev not to be a dick by dropping it. Right now, the blue cube was the same temperature as the forest.

It took him a couple of seconds to realise the boy in front of him was watching him expectantly. Waiting for him to open the envelope because apparently, Snow was either in on or a part of Dev’s stupid (mysterious) plans. Baz wanted to be antagonistic, defy any expectation by doing something radical like burning the paper, but his damn inquisitiveness got the better of him. He opened it.

_Describe how you feel about each other. I love you, Si._

The first line was written in unrecognisable handwriting. The second, however, was much more familiar.

_Play the game Baz,_ Dev had written, _and remember, don’t be a dick._

The dark-haired boy scoffed in protest. “That is completely unwarranted! I don’t understand why you get _love_ and I get an insult."

A smile of contradiction grew on Snow’s face. He opened his mouth to respond, but his words didn’t air as his expression morphed into surprise. One of his hands started fidgeting, almost as if he were nervous.

“Well,” he replied finally, “You can be a bit whiney when it comes to following orders.”

“I am  _not,_ ” Baz protested. Snow joined his hands and put them on his lap.

“Well…” Slight colour flooded to the paler boy’s cheeks, a sight that brought Baz back to his questioning thoughts. He was sat in a wood unable to run from the chosen one, with his adorable ruffled hair and tawny skin. How had his life arrived at a point so cruel?

“Well _what_?”

Bringing his knees under his chin, Snow tilted his head. “How _do_ you feel about me?”

Baz averted his eyes to the leaves on the ground – some sights were best avoided, and the picture of Simon Snow, blushing, surrounded by almost-shadows was one of them. It wasn’t quite night, but daytime was no longer with them. Despite the realities of his situation, Baz always felt that this time was distinctly uneventful, like nothing bad could possibly happen. After all, actors couldn't have their characters killed when they weren't even on stage, when they were found sipping a coffee in the back, waiting for the end of the intermission. That is how the current time felt, like they were in between scenes, away from the harm. This feeling tried to lure him into a false sense of security. His act of indifference always began to slip away as the sun went down; darkness always encouraged truth. It would only be after he spoke something unthinkable that he would remember the reality. His theatre production had not come to an end, he was not at home alone. The lights were still shining, scrutiny was still possible. 

Unlike the crazy things he thought at midnight, at dusk, he would be held accountable for his words. He had to be extremely careful.

“No,” Baz said bluntly. “We’re not doing this.”

“Yes, we _are_. I am not up for experiencing the scariness that will come if we don’t”

“What scariness?”

Simon looked at him as if he were stupid. "I do _not_ want to face the wrath of Penelope Bunce, and neither do you."

_Penelope?_

"Oh please," He waved a hand, "I could deal with her in my sleep."

An eyebrow was raised in response. 

Baz involuntarily sighed.

“Come on,” Simon said, his tone far too soft, “Just play the game.”

He would not. It would both humiliate and hurt him; he couldn’t look Simon in eye, convince him that their current indifferent friendship was all he wanted, not if he had the pain of burns clear in his face.

He should start running. He _had_ to run, had to save himself, but he couldn't seem to get his legs to kick into action. All he managed to do was shake his head.

So, for some inexplicable reason that Baz was sure he'd be cursing forevermore, Snow started talking instead.

“I think you’re smart and funny. I don’t think you’re as observant as you think you are. I’m glad that we’re friends now, despite the fact I think you might still plot to kill me in the future.” The last statement was delivered with a grimace. 

_I wish I was capable of that,_ Baz couldn’t help but think, _at least my family would be happy._

Then, he winced. There was an unpleasant but bearable heat coming from Dev’s bloody box, the change in temperature so surprising that he failed to conceal his reaction. He was confused for half a second – he hadn’t said anything? – but then something terrifying occurred to him. Could this thing read his thoughts?

Crowley, he couldn’t even lie to himself anymore.

**Simon:**

Baz had winced at him mentioning their friendship. _Winced._ Like the idea was so repugnant it was painful.

At this, Simon felt not only confused but hurt. They _had_ been friends over the past month; he was sure of it. He had heard the other boys laughter, been carried by his caring arms.

There was no way they'd remained enemies. There just wasn’t.

**Baz:**

“I’m done,” Simon said bluntly. “Your turn.”

How can you trick a thought tracking box? Panicking, Baz made a mental note to kill Dev later. No, not kill him. He would make him live in the catacombs like the treacherous little rat he was.

Baz started with some truth; if he moved gradually towards lies he could become accustomed to the pain.

“You’re loyal, one of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met. That’s why you follow the mage around like a lost puppy.”

The beginnings of a smile were forming on Simon’s face. That was not what Baz had planned; it made the whole charade slightly harder to handle. However, so far, the box had remained unheated.

“You’ve actually got a couple brain cells which is surprising, considering I had originally thought the only thing between your ears were Bunce’s opinions.”

The smile was getting bigger, more real. It seemed that Snow didn’t _want_ to be provoked, a fact that made Baz’s life a lot more difficult.

He didn’t want see this reaction to their friendship, have it become clear how much their casual acquaintance meant to Simon, because Baz _wasn’t_ satisfied with it at all. In fact, he was the polar opposite.

There was a longing inside him that meant friendship could never be enough.

Snow’s openness was beautiful the way a volcanic eruption was. You could look at it objectively and find it fascinating, but you couldn’t deny the inevitable: its destruction was coming for your home. Its lava would burn you alive.

Snow’s smile was starting to disintegrate Baz’s restraint.

So, his defensives went up. He did what he had always done when the volcanoes heat was too much: he acted out. He climbed up the mountainside and awaited the explosion.

“Of course, your spellwork is still abysmal, meaning is I still _feel_ that you’re still a disgrace to the world of the mages. You also have no taste, you look like shit all the time in your bloody school clothes, and you’re generally a disappointment to all who prophesied about you.”

Baz awaited the punch in the face. He awaited the kick in the stomach, the spit at his feet as Snow walked away.

But none of it came.

Instead, Simon cried out in pain, as if Baz’s words were knives.

**Simon:**

The burning was just as intense as it was earlier with Penny. The only difference was that this time he hadn't lied, hadn’t even spoken.

“Fuck, Simon, what's wrong?”

Baz had immediately jumped up from his crossed-legged position, kneeling in front of him, scanning for the source of harm. Even though the haze of pain Simon could see the worry in the other boy’s face, a care that could not be summoned or faked. His eyes had widened and he was biting his lip. 

It was not these facts, however, that made the obvious click in Simon’s mind. The realisation was due to two other events.

One: When Baz had asked after his well-being, the box had immediately cooled. Not simply back to room temperature, but to below freezing. The cube had turned to ice.

Two: The area between Baz’s eyebrows was creased.

**Baz:**

Snow pulled his hands out of his lap, placing one of his palms in front of Baz’s face:

It was charred. Something had burnt away a good few layers of skin, leaving an angry red patch in its place.

His brain felt like it was on overdrive – his past plan at dealing with the situation, the one filled with more sharp words, felt like it was conceived years ago. At that moment, he was just a boy, faced with the person he loved, a person who was hurt.

Carefully he ran his fingers over the wounded area, almost wincing himself as Snow hissed in pain. The ridiculous urge to kiss his hand better appeared in Baz’s mind, where it was dismissed at once.

“Just spell it better, would you?” Snow asked, almost shyly. As if Baz would ever reject the request.

He got out his wand, quickly healing the wound. “This is probably somehow your fault, you idiot.” He muttered, before releasing Snow’s hand.

Or at least, he tried to. Simon apparently had other plans; he clung onto Baz, his injuries be damned. He was looking at him like the earth looks at the sun; thankful that, finally, it has seen the light.

“If I’ve got this wrong,” He said, “Then feel free to stop me.” He started edging closer towards Baz, his head quirked slightly, almost teasingly. Normally, Baz would’ve retorted back with something, but his mind had gone mysteriously blank.

“But, I don’t think I’ve got it wrong.” Snow bit his lip. “I think that, _finally_ , I have got something very right.” He edged even closer; Simon’s thighs were now touching Baz’s crossed legs as he kneeled on the leaves between them. His face was now slightly above Baz’s own, and it was so very close.

“What are you doing?” He tried to sound sharp, but his voice box wasn’t cooperating – the question came out as an almost whisper.

“I’m doing, I hope, exactly what you think I am.” Snow whispered back.

Then, he kissed him.

It was everything Baz could’ve hoped for, yet somehow nothing like he had imagined. His fifth-year fantasies had been all blood and demand; he'd thought they would kiss like they fought, with hatred, passion and everything they had. He could’ve never envisioned this.

Softness. Snow’s hand in his hair, not pulling at the strands but twining them around his fingers.  Snow’s body in his lap as they kissed, his other hand in Baz’s, lazily drawing circles with his fingers.

He couldn’t have imagined the hotness of Snow’s mouth, the way he would do a nice thing with his chin. He couldn’t of know that, after a while, the other boy’s mouth would become pliant under his own, allowing Baz to explore it as he wanted.

But just as he thought he had his rhythm, Baz would've never guessed that Snow would bite his lip teasingly, somehow pulling him even closer than they were before.

A couple of minutes later – or maybe in no time at all? – Snow pulled away. But, he didn’t allow for seeds of doubt to grow in Baz’s mind, as he rested his forehead against Baz’z own.

“Drop it.” He said quietly, moving his hand out of Baz’s hair and placing it on his thigh.

“What?” Baz wasn’t paying all his attention to Simon’s words. He was too busy trying to memorise everything about this moment, in case it disappeared like vapour in his grasp.

Simon unlaced his hand from Baz’s own. “The Box, it’s too cold.”

Baz hadn’t even noticed until Snow had pulled away. The little blue box, previously encased between their hands, had turned to ice.

“How did you - ”

Smiling, Simon intertwined their fingers once more. “I guess,” He laughed slightly, “Well, I guess I'm finally being honest with myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing with his chin™


	12. Epilogue

**Baz:**

"Well," Baz declared as he walked into the library, "I _guess_ you can call this a club? Technically?."

He looked around the room, mildly disappointed to see that everything had remained the same. Books lined the shelves, the lights were still a fraction too bright. Papers were still haphazardly stacked in piles, left by students who had either fallen asleep in their seats one too many times, or ones who had finally accepted that their essays were officially A Load Of Bollocks. 

There were no crazy dissections taking place, nor were there any anatomy skeletons hanging around that Baz could charm to amuse himself. 

"You could've at least gotten a whiteboard and written ' _The science club'_ across it, this -" He gestured around at the completely vacant library - " is just pure laziness. I mean, damn Snow, let your inner geek live a little! Buy a labelled plant, go _wild_."

"Shhhh!" Hissed a familiar voice, "Geek Simon is a well-guarded secret; by running your mouth off, you're letting everyone know about him! You're supposed to be _quiet_ in library!."

"Yes," he muttered sarcastically, "Becuase I'm _completely_ exposing you to the world, with all the people here." 

Simon Snow sat alone at a table, a pencil behind his ear, his nose deeply buried in a book. 

If you would've told Baz's past self that the sight in front of his eyes would exist in his future reality, he would've split his sides in laughter. Then, upon hearing your elaboration that he would not only see it but secretly adore it, he would've continued to giggle six ways to Sunday, before deeming you completely insane. But alas, his senses were not lying to him: the wide-eyed, ink-stained Simon that appeared before him was real. Despite him being worlds away from the stupidly brave boy Baz had always known, this version of Simon was a contender for his favourite.

 _Not_ that he no longer understood the appeal of Snow the miracle boy - initially he was all Baz was able to see, and he still fell in love with the git.

These different versions of Simon did not compete; they coexisted instead of cancelling each other out.  Somehow though, Baz had been granted access to more than just the chosen one, the boy that everyone knew. He was finally getting to the core, the truth of the enigma that was Simon Snow, and if Baz was honest, he loved this unravelling process almost as much as he did the end results. Just as he thought he'd finally figured everything out, something else came along to surprise him.

"Are you wearing _glasses_?" 

Simon finally looked up from his book, the exasperation clear on his face.

That, and the pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

"Yes," A sigh escaped his lips. "I am. You know, you really should use your freaky vampire sight for something better than pointing out the glaringly obvious."

Baz snorted. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"To save my sanity?

"You think you're still in possession of your sanity? That's cute."

Simon scowled.

Baz joined him at his table. He considered leaning over to see what Simon's book was about, but he couldn't seem to follow through. The fact that he was certain he wouldn't understand a word of it was neither here nor there.

Simon refocused his gaze on the task at hand, clearly having decided that he had been distracted enough. His eyes creased up in concentration as he mouthed the words on the page. Apparently, this method helped written works seem more coherent.

Poking Simons's side, Baz titled his head slightly. "So _this_ is what you look like when you're actually doing work?"

"This is what I look like when I haven't put in my contacts," Simon corrected bluntly. "Otherwise I'd have to wear them around you all the time; you're the biggest piece of work I've ever come across."

"Well, I hope you've got the right ethic for it because you're stuck with me now."

Simon threaded their fingers together underneath the desk. Baz found he hated the cliche significantly less when he was the one participating in it. "I know. I've already tried to return you, but they wouldn't take you back without a receipt."

Acting scandalised, Baz glanced around the library in search of somebody to defend his honour. Coming up with nought, he remembered his initial question. "Where is everyone? I thought you would be drowning in wannabe Bunce's begging you to teach them; I was prepared to lurk in the back."

Simon's hand stiffened slightly, and Baz didn't miss the way he avoided his eyes. "No, not today,"

"Okay, who comes on the other days?"

"Uhhhh..." He paused, attempting to fight a blush down. (He was failing.) "Rhys?"

"Two of Rhys' favourite activities are waterbombing first years and flirting abysmally with Gareth. I'm getting the feeling that his third favourite isn't attending your science club."

"It could be," Simon mumbled, "Maybe Rhys is a more complex person than you think."

" _I_ didn't even know this was happening until you mentioned it, so I doubt Rhys does." Baz paused for a second before it all clicked into place.

"Oh god, get that look out of your eye, your deductions are a thing of nightmares."

Baz ignored him. "Does anyone actually know this is happening? Did you advertise?"

"Would you believe me," Simon said hesitantly, moving his head back and squinting slightly, "if I said yes?"

"No."

"Well, that's just _rude_." Suddenly, he turned sheepish. "Is there any chance that you find isolated, unadvertised science clubs extremely mysterious?"

"I was leaning more towards more heartbreakingly sad, if I'm completely honest."

Simon closes his eyes in defeat, pouting like he was trying to prevent it. 

"...but their leaders are okay, I suppose,"

Simon just looked at him, and it shouldn't have felt like a reply, but it did.

In the past, Simon's eyes were filled not with responses but assumptions, both about Baz himself and anything to do with their shared futures.

They'd never been able to see each other as they truly were, blinded by their guesses at what they would become. Baz, the figurehead of the old families, Simon, the one to ensure their fall. As adulthood had quickly approached, bringing all these responsibilities and expectations, the contempt between the pair of them became misdirected.

Baz had no longer hated _Simon_ , but the future version of himself that Simon expected to see.

Now, everything had changed.

Their eyes contained not one unavoidable future but infinite possibilities. Baz could look into Simon's eyes and see himself, not as a plotting pawn at the command of the old families, but as something better. Something new. 

In Simon's eyes, he could see everything he wanted to be. The man he wanted to become. 

"Be careful," Simon said in an almost whisper, "Penny will see you being soft and she'll never let you live it down."

Baz lent forward in surprise. "I thought you said you were here alone?"

"No," He shrugged, before lowering his voice, "Penny is watching us from behind the biography shelf."

**Penny:**

She hadn't seen them since she'd abandoned them under the sycamore tree.

As usual, she'd come to sit with Simon as he did his science - it wasn't like she was committing a _crime_ \- but for some inexplicable reason, she found herself entrapped behind a bookshelf. Not due to the position itself, but because of the scene in front of her eyes. 

Despite being an orchestrator of this situation, Penny couldn't quite believe it.

Baz had been in love with her best friend for years, but never once had she seen him look _happy_ about it. The emotion had always been bared it like it was an internal curse upon his soul, one that sought only to torment him. Simon was the carrot and reality the stick: no matter how fast Baz moved, he had convinced himself that he would never be able to have what he truly wanted. The possibility of happiness, he believed, was set to dangle in front of his face forever until he died trying to obtain it.

Now, Simon was there, and he wasn't moving anymore.

His eyes were open in a way that they hadn't been in years, because finally, they weren't afraid of what they were going to see. The future did not seem looming but bright, because it was something he knew he could control; his fear of making decisions alone, it seemed, had begun to subside. 

The last time he had done what he wanted, consequences be damned, had resulted in his current situation. Sitting in front of a boy who clearly adored him, a boy who, in time, he could come to love.

After that, she wouldn't be scared anymore either.

She couldn't help but feel a tiny bit smug about the whole situation. She hadn't planted the seeds - they had done that all by themselves - but, she _had_ helped water the plant, making it grow into something beautiful. 

So, when challenging grey eyes fell up her not so hidden hiding place, she stepped out of the shadows with her head held high.

**Simon:**

Penelope Bunce was his best friend. He loved her with every fibre of his being, but at that moment, even Simon could smell the self-satisfaction that exuded off of her.

She was smart, she was brilliant, and she knew how to recognise a victory. In light of this, her logic would be that she'd be damned if she didn't celebrate it.

Unlike most people, her celebration was done not by partying, but self-congratulation.

"So Bunce, this is where you spend your spare time?" Baz leered sarcastically as he sat up straighter, "Lurking behind shelves? If you're hoping to improve your slacking grades, I can promise you, this is _not_ the way to do it." His soft demeanour from a few moments previous had vanished, replaced with hardened snark and elegance. 

Yet, under the desk, he still held Simon's hand.

At Baz's words, Penny came and took a seat at their table. The gleam in her eyes did not diminish in the slightest. "Actually Pitch, I think you'll find that _I_ am currently at the top of the -"

-"Pen," Simon cut in, a small smile playing on his features, "We get it, you're the clearest clog of them all, but who is the best at _science_?"

Baz and Penny just looked at him disdainfully. The pair looked so similar during that moment, he could see why they'd become (albeit hesitant) friends. 

It also said a lot about the kind of people he chose to be close to. 

"Snow," Baz replied finally with a roll of his eyes, " I hereby declare you the best at dissecting corpses and blowing shit up -" He smirked, adopting a patronising tone - "Would you like to be inducted into our special academic feud?"

Simon removed his hand from Baz's grasp and placed them on the table, a movement which challenged not only Baz's words. It posed a question which they were yet to discuss.

_You'll hold my hand under a disguise, but will you do it without one?_

"I'll past, thanks," he leant forward conspiratorially, "Just wanted to remind my present company that they weren't the only smart ones in the room."

Simon looked up to face Baz, hoping the meaning of his words weren't lost on him. He'd mentioned their company as a reminder; any announcements that were possible at that moment would not be viewed by an audience.

However, where Simon's movements were all challenge and pressing questions, his face spoke of a greater acceptance. Blue eyes met grey, and he intentionally softened his features into a look of understanding.

If Baz didn't want to tell just yet, Simon was happy to wait.

He watched as Baz evaluated the situation, his face drawn, his brows narrowed. In that split second he thought, for the first time in his life, he would have to keep a secret from his best friend. The dread began to rise (as Pen did not suffer fools lightly, and would be able to read him like a book), but apparently, his worry was in vain.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch, despite their newfound relationship, could still be an utter arsehole. 

He'd watched Simon do all these calculations - let him figure out how to be delicate - before revealing that he was only toying with him. As soon as Simon had started to become visibly worried, he raised a goddamn eyebrow. Let out a light snort of amusement. His expression very clearly relayed his response:

_I've waited long enough for this miracle boy, don't you think?_

Then, he also leant forward, meeting Simon halfway. Tan hands covered ones coated in freckles as Baz finally spoke in reply.

"Oh, I think your present company are very clear about _that_ , don't you think?"

He tried not to look flustered at the clear double meaning. "You utter bastard," he said with a deprecating grin. 

Penny, Simon was aware, had been watching their movements like they were engaging in a tennis match. Either that or a fierce battle of wits.

Which, in a way, they were. 

Gods, this was going to be his relationship in a nutshell, wasn't it? 

**Baz:**

Simon Snow was an idiot. An adorable, considerate idiot, but an idiot none the less.

If Baz had started smiling, he would never admit it afterwards. 

Bunce coughed. 

"So this -" She said, looking pointedly at their joint hands - "is a thing now, right?"

"Yes," Baz replied simply (Snow was about to work up another bluster), "It is."

Clapping her hands together, Bunce smiled like a much-anticipated business transaction had finally gone through. "Excellent. 'Bout time, too."

Both he and Snow looked at her expectantly, but Penny just pursed her lips, looking both far too smug and far too happy. She seemed to believe the aura of mystery around yesterdays event would increase her successes, as if esteem is heightened when coupled with confusion. Baz, as an extremely esteemed person himself, knew this to be completely false.

One became more admired by having everyone know just how clever you are.

Now, he wasn't about to correct Bunce's faulty theory - the girl was hero-worshipped enough, by her best friend no less. He was, however, able to dismantle her actions piece by piece using a healthy Pitch tactic: deception.

As previously mentioned, part of his esteem was knowing _everything_. 

How Bunce came into all of this, he didn't quite understand.

"No thanks to you of course," Baz continued, faking obliviousness, "You, Miss Bunce, with the aid of Mr Grimm, gave us faulty boxes. Clearly, whatever you were attempting failed most spectacularly."

Instead of getting rilled up like Baz was expecting, Bunce's grin simply grew tenfold. 

"Considering the fact that your hands are now in Simon's instead of curled in a fist to punch him, clearly, my attempt was successful, _Mr_ _Pitch_."

Baz narrowed his eyes.

Simon, who had absentmindedly begun playing with Baz's fingers, stopped for a moment to air a laugh. "She does have a point, you know."

Snatching his hands away, he turned his glare from Bunce and shot it menacingly in Snow's direction. "You traitor," he said, pointing an accusatory finger, "Whose side are you even on?"

"The side of the woman who could take away her help in Politikal science."

" _I_ could help you in politikal science!"

Simon laughed. "I also could go off at you in Polikital science for getting too, you know, _political,_ but I'm not rushing to do that, am I?"

Baz huffed in response, accidentally adding more conceit to Bunce's ego, which had to be remedied immediately 

"As I was _saying_ , you failed because my box heated up when he told the truth, and his mine. Didn't care to master the spell before you turned us into your guinea pigs?"

 To his surprise, Bunce blushed at his words. Her hands, which previously been stationary in her lap, began fidgeting as she picked at the skin around her nails. 

She bit her lip slightly before speaking. "You weren't my guinea pigs - I took precautions, I swear it. I didn't do all of this just to play with you -"

"Pen, we don't think -" Simon tried to cut in, but Baz silenced him by placing a hand on his knee. 

He wanted to hear what she had to say.

Shooting both of them an apologetic look, she continued. "I knew from the beginning that I had to be careful whilst doing this, as to not overstep any boundaries.  I didn't want either of you to be forced to come out to yourself before you were ready, hence the mismatched boxes." Baz just narrowed his eyes at her in confusion, causing her to elaborate. "For example, Simon could've said something about you that he didn't realise was a lie, then he might have freaked out when his hand suddenly had third-degree burns." She looked towards Snow, who was nodding at her words. "Figuring out that your box correlated to the other person took effort - it would've been easier for you to just dismiss my magick as wrong and move on. The boxes weren't showing you anything you didn't already suspect, they only proved your theories right." At some point during Penny's explanation, she had looked down at the ground. Her last statement came out as an almost whisper:

"You had to _want_ the other person to be lying to believe it. You had to want _them_."

Baz could feel Snow looking at him. There was so much hope in his eyes, unguarded and unquestioned. Baz turned to face him with an unbidden smile, the kind that confirmed Simon's faith, and bespoke of some of his own.

"Bunce," Baz said quietly, without tearing his glance away from Simon, "Stop looking like a scolded puppy. I've got a feeling that everything is going to be okay."

 **Dev** :

"It's simply not _fair_ ," he reiterated passionately over his dinner, "What kind of person goes to work one day and thinks, _you know what would spice my life the fuck up? Not having an illicit office affair like everyone else, but demoting Pluto to a dwarf planet, like a **dick**!"_

Penny had the nerve to lower glasses a fraction at him. "That is _not_ how science works! You need knowledge and proof and..." She trailed off slightly, looking around the food hall, "Blast, where is he when I need him? You need those people, the ones who do that thing ma bob, um..." She clicked her fingers impatiently, "Peer reviewers! You need other scientists to look over your work and see that it's correct! They can't just decide to change scientific history to 'spice things up'."

"That's funny, considering that's exactly what they did." Penny opened her mouth to argue, but Dev cut her off. "Go on, show me otherwise. Tell me some of their so-called 'Proof'"

Looking helplessly around once more, Penny sighed in aggravation. "Just because _I_ don't know the science doesn't mean -"

"-means it is all fake!" He slammed both of his hands down onto the table in triumph, earning him a bemused look from an observant Niall, and a glance of annoyance from a busy Agatha. "If you, Penelope Bunce, the biggest know it all of them all, can't explain it, then it means there is no explanation to be had!"

"Actually, I do know someone who could explain it perfectly -" She practically spat out her words through gritted teeth - "if only he would _show his face._ "

"Let me put it this way," Dev conspired, grinning gleefully, "Would you like it if I demoted _you_ from human to hobbit, just because you weren't big enough?"

"For the last time, Pluto doesn't-" She started, before fully processing what he had just said. "Will you _stop_ making gags about my height?"

"But then how will you ever learn to empathise, short stack?" He ruffled her hair fondly. It was much like stroking a dog before it goes rabid. "Maybe now you will understand the plight of poor Pluto!"

He had reduced her to a being that looked ready to spontaneously combust. "Pluto has no emotions, it's a _planet_!"

He nodded at her approvingly. "Exactly. I'm so glad we finally agree."

-"That is _totally_ not what I meant."

Dev ignored her. Placing a hand next to his mouth to act as a fake megaphone, he looked upwards. "Pluto, my main man, we've got Penelope in on our plans! Soon your prestige will be recognised, oh humble planetary one."

Finally, Penny slumped in her seat. "Pluto is billions of miles away - it cannot hear you."

"If you two would stop talking for half a second," Agatha deadpanned suddenly, "Then you would realise that everyone in this hall can hear _you_."

Slowly, the pair of them looked away from each other, finally caring to glance at the scene around them.

Apparently, at some point during their very important discourse, every person in the entire hall had gone silent. A smile began to brew on Dev’s face – maybe people were finally beginning to take his Pluto problem seriously – but alas, no. Just because they were the only people _inside_ the hall that were speaking, did not mean theirs were the only voices to be heard.

There were two people talking elsewhere. People who had forgotten that words spoken in the corridor would carry.

All attention was on them. People were hanging onto their every echo.

 **Baz** :

Simon Snow was a testy sod when he was hungry.

Baz would’ve prefered to remain in the bliss of ignorance about this fact. Previously, whenever he'd seen Snow with food on his mind, the boy had already been in the vicinity of it. His frantic war against hunger had already been waging; by the time Snow deemed him worthy of a glance, he was already only one scone away from victory.

Baz had thought that that scenario was the only instalment possible in Snow’s love affair with food.

Sadly, he was mistaken. Like in any good tale of romance, before the joyful reunion, there was the tragic grieving of the deserted party.

He had only become aware of this recently. Before, despite the pair of them heading in the same direction of the Great Hall, they had never gone together. Baz had always waited for the chosen one to leave their room before he trailed behind him. It was the best course of action for avoiding conflict – Baz contented himself with staring at the boy across the hall, once he himself had finally arrived.

Now, however, they walked side by side.

The novelty of falling into step with the chosen one, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same line of sight, had not yet worn off. In the grand scheme of things, this small act spoke volumes of how far they’d come.

Baz had spent years feeling that his path was intrinsically different from Snow’s, despite their final forthcoming destination being the same.

There used to be a place in their futures from which only one of them could return. What was the point of accompanying his fellow traveller if Baz had sworn to be the last man standing?

Why would he get to know the intricacies of Snow’s heart if he only intended to stop it beating?

But, as it turns out, life is a funny thing. Sometimes it doesn’t care for your plans or intentions, and the path that you had once been set on walking down can warp in front of your eyes.

Sometimes, your destination changes.

Right then, at that moment, Baz could see no further than their current situation, nor did he want to. His future, the one he’d believed was set in stone, had disintegrated -  how could they could they go back to their battle when neither of them wanted the war?

Baz had no idea what would come instead. This was due to two reasons:

The first was that, for the first time in forever, Baz’s future seemed unfocused. The plan that had been laid out for years had been abandoned by him, if not by his family. (He still hadn’t quite figured out how to break it to them, the fact that he would rather kiss the chosen one than kill him. His father’s eternal disappointment will inevitably occur to the soundtrack of Aunt Fiona’s laughter.)  The blur of confusion that came subsequently after his change of heat was strangely comforting; he had no desire to decipher it just yet. He was gratified with simply existing in his feeling of contentment, instead of constantly dwelling on what might be.

The second reason was much less sappy and a great deal more pressing: Baz, despite finally being happy with the reality of his future, was pretty sure it would never come to pass if Snow didn’t get some food in him _right now._

“This is entirely your fault,” The self-proclaimed starving man mumbled as they walked down the steps from their room. “If you hadn’t started playing that violin in our room, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Is that so?” Baz raised his eyebrows mockingly. “You’re conveniently forgetting that you were the one you begged me to play it.”

Simon scoffed. “I did not beg, it was only a suggestion!”

“Well, you could’ve _suggested_ I stop, if you were that hungry.”

Baz didn’t even need to look to know that blood had rushed to the other boy’s face. He did anyway; now that he was allowed to see such things – now that he could _cause_ them -  he couldn’t be blamed for indulging once in a while.

“No, I couldn’t. It would’ve been rude or…” Simon searched around for a justification, “something.”

“You’ve never seemed to mind being rude to me before,” Baz pondered, before adopting a teasing tone, “Are you sure you didn't just like hearing me play?”

“No.” He said a little too quickly. “You could’ve played that piece in a rich man’s dental waiting room and it would’ve been completely at home. Why would I like something as upper class as that?”

“Because I was the one playing it?”

Simon looked at him levelly, as if trying to decide something. A small smile was playing on the ends of his lips. “You’re an utter sop." He concluded. "Who would’ve guessed it? Basilton Pitch, a romantic.”

“Don’t avoid the question Snow, your diversion tactics are mediocre at best.”

“Fine,” Simon sighed, “I liked it, okay? It was very peaceful.”

“Okay,” he said softly. (He’d been soft far too much recently, he had to be careful. He might end up like his half-siblings, all Grimm and no Pitch.) “Good to know.” He paused, before adding, “Do you really think our dentists have violinists in the waiting rooms?”

“Shut up.”

The conversation halted for a while after this as they waded through the castle. With every step Snow seemed determined to increase their speed – he was only a couple strides away from a full out run.

It was once they were nearing the Great Hall that Baz looked in between them, where their hands were holding not weapons but each other, that he realised there was something they needed to discuss.

**Dev:**

Immediately his eyes shot back to Penny’s, but this time, hers were void of all mocking humour. Instead, they were filled with untampered worry as the silence stretched between them, their ears straining to hear the words that had now become a public spectacle.

“… do realise that is we go in this, that everyone will find out?” Baz’s voice echoed out. He sounded uncharacteristically uneasy.

The chosen one didn’t give a reply. If Dev knew Baz at all, he would be wearing a vulnerable expression, the type that is never seen on a Pitch in public. His cousin, for the most part, was all wit and strength. That was all most people – including everyone in this room – thought there was to him, but Dev knew differently. Very rarely he would thaw the ice, leaving an overly cautious boy in his place.

It didn’t happen much, but when it came to Baz, Snow had always been the exception.

Apparently, the chosen one could reduce his cousin to that state without saying a word.

In a protective gesture that Dev would rather die than admit to Baz, he felt his hands curl into fists.

“I’m hungry.” Snow said finally, nonchalantly. He actually sounded rather confused about their entire conversation. Dev felt Penny chuckle slightly from beside him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Was there one?” Snow said curiously, “All I heard was a statement. You’re the one who's been giving me grammar lessons, so you tell me. Does this need to be a question?” There was a pause in their conversation – Dev felt like Snow was gesturing towards something, but he couldn’t guess what it would be.

This time around, Baz was silent.

“Alright, I’ll turn it into one.” Snow said. “Do you want to be open about this with everyone, or not?”

“Most people I care about either already partially know, or I was going to tell them. They just don’t know about you.”

“Do you want them to?”

“Do _you_ want them to?” Baz countered, “Nobody knows _anything_ about you. You could still…”

“Still _what_?”

“Change your mind.”  

Dev knew that tone. Baz was trying to fake nonchalance, and the sad thing was, he was doing a damn good job of it. He could only hear the caring undertone that was present because he’d known the boy his entire life.

But Snow just laughed.

“I’ve been told I’ve got a one-track mind, and since the beginning of school, it’s always been pretty determined on heading in your direction.” At this, a couple of people in the hall began to exchange confused glances. Dev looked around their table: Penny was smiling, Niall looked extremely confused, and Agatha had, once again, become absorbed in whatever she was working on.

Snow continued talking. “Yes, I could change my mind. But I don’t want to.” He paused. “I’m hungry.”

Dev could almost hear his cousins smile. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

**Penny:**

She knew there was a time and a place for laughter, she really did. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Giggles escaped her and she made no attempt to contain them, because Aleister Crowley, didn’t this just say it all.

Simon and Baz were holding hands as they came into the hall, but that seemed to be the only similarity between their entrances.

Baz walked in with a sneer that would make any Pitch proud. Instead of avoiding the questioning stares that were shot his way, he faced them head-on. In fact, it seemed like he was determined to challenge every person in the vicinity with his eyes alone. His whole countenance radiated the message that _yes, he was holding hands with the chosen one_ and  _the fuck are you going to do about it?_

Simon, however, had eyes for only one thing, and it wasn’t his fellow students. Her best friend didn’t give a toss about his boyfriends need to be intimidating, as he dragged him over to their table with haste. Slamming himself down into his chair, he locked his vision on his target, then pounced.

The scone wasn’t even given the courtesy of being eaten over a plate.

Baz, who had reluctantly sat down next to Simon, rolled his eyes heartily. “ _Honestly_.”

Penny looked around to asses the reactions of her fellow table members.

Niall, bless him, looked a little like he was trying to swallow a lemon. He kept opening his mouth to say something, then, after a few moments, closing it, before repeating the whole process a few moments later. It was as if he had several responses to the situation, and in his confusion, he couldn’t quite decide which one to go with. The slight smirk that he was sporting grew with every disregarded remark, hinting that they were all to be served with a side of sarcasm.

Agatha, much to Penny’s surprise, only looked up briefly from whatever she was scribbling on, before getting back to work. However, during that brief period, she did have time to shoot both a threating look at Baz and a soft one to Simon. Penny figured that said everything she needed to say.

A smile overtook Dev’s entire face. He was clearly extremely proud of his cousin, but she didn’t miss the way he looked between Baz and Simon before turning towards Agatha wistfully. Penny didn’t really know what was going on there, (she’d been a bit preoccupied), but if Agatha’s obviousness was anything to go by, whatever Dev’s feelings were, they were one-sided. Despite her newfound friendship with him, Penny couldn’t bring herself to wish for anything to develop either.

Agatha had expressed no wish to seek out another relationship, and quite frankly, Penny was happy for it. For so long she was seen as the golden girl and nothing more – her current independence would mean she could simply be herself, without slipping back into the habit of changing for others.

Dev didn’t look too heartbroken anyway – it seemed to Penny that he had accepted his feelings for what they were, and was determined to not let them bring him down. His wistfulness for Agatha in no way diminished his happiness for Simon and Baz; unlike some others might be, he was anything but bitter. She found she respected him more for it.

She had definitely acquired a new friend in him, and she wasn’t even mad about it.

“Well this is new,” Dev said, a small glimmer of self-gratification in his eyes.

“If you’re going to be smug about it Grimm,” Baz sneered, “Then I’ll confiscate your privileges at family reunions. No more running to my room to escape Daphne’s aunt Bonnie.”

Dev’s smile faltered slightly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. Your cheeks would be stuck between her bony clutches forever.”

Simon emerged from his food to wink suggestively at Penny, wiggling his eyebrows. She (once again, nicks and slicks) let out an unavoidable giggle.

Baz removed his hand from Simon’s to elbow him in the stomach.

“His face cheeks, you bloody idiot,” he said as Dev turned an impressive shade of red, “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Niall opened his mouth again, before promptly shutting it. He looked as though he were mentally chastising himself.

“What kind of family do you think we are?” Dev exclaimed, scandalised.

Simon shrugged. “An upper class one. Isn’t that what your lot do? Interbreed?”

Dev opened his mouth to retaliate, but Penny caught his eye. “He does have a point, you know.”

“Shut up, Penelope.”

“I wouldn’t say that to her,” Agatha said suddenly. She had gone from silent to mischievous. “Not if you want to keep your pillows intact.”

Penny turned to glare at her. “That was one time! And it was only one in the morning!”

“ _Only_ ,” Agatha scoffed. “Also, that doesn’t justify your pillow genocide.”

Penny scowled. “If I wasn’t allowed to keep you awake, then the cold floor could do the job.”

Shrugging, the blonde haired girl went back to her work. As Baz and Simon continued to bicker mindlessly about whatever it was (Something about a dentist?) Penny scooted over to Agatha’s side of the table.

“What are you up to?”

In a flash, her friend suddenly seemed unfathomably shy, which was ridiculous – the pair of them had known each other for years.

“Just doodling.”

Carefully, she reached for the paper and began to slowly drag it towards her. Penny didn’t use to much force; if Agatha had really wanted to, she could prevented the thievery.

Once retrieved, Penny held the picture between her hands. Once she’d taken in what she was seeking, she loosened her grip. And stared.

Then, she stared some more.

“Just doodling, my ass,” Penny muttered.

The scene was a landscape, like the ones that adorned her walls. This one, unlike her tapestries, was clearly created by Agatha. It showed her stables on the cusp of autumn; some of the horses were being ridden by joyful students, the leaves of an old oak were just beginning to orange. The linework has been coloured in by some kind of crayon, but unlike when Penny had previously used that kind of tool, the result was not a childish mess.

It was quite impeccable.

But the quality of the drawing was not what Penny focused her attention on. It was not what created a pool of hope in her stomach.

Agatha had used some kind of delicate magick on the picture to bring it to life. While most parts of the scene remained unchanged, there were some notable aspects that had clearly undergone spellwork; the falling of the autumn leaves, the everchanging clouds.

These kind of charms were not only difficult due to their magickal theory. To incorporate spellwork into the creative arts, a certain level of passion is required. It is not enough to say the incantation, for if you intent behind your words is incorrect, you would ruin your picture. One must really care about their work to produce effective results. You have to love not only your art, but the magick itself.

Penny smiled.

“Aggie,” She began slowly, “Has your wand been working recently?”

At first, her friend seemed confused by her question. She snatched back her picture, scanning it for any magickal mistakes that would trigger such a query. Finding none, she looked up at Penny, tilting her head.

Comprehension came slowly, as she registered Penny's meaningful tone. As she recollected the memory of two girls on a bed, arguing about the benefits of magick.

“Yes,” She nodded slowly, “It’s been working well. Brilliantly, actually. Turns out it likes certain kinds of magick after all.”

They both knew they weren’t really discussing the wand.

“That’s fantastic,” Penny smiled, “Truly,”

Agatha beamed back, tucking her picture discreetly into her bag.

“…but who would agree to such a position?” Baz said from the other end of the table. Penny finally tuned back into their debate.

“I don’t know, some broke uni student desperate for cash?”

“Broke uni students do not play the _violin._  It is very much the rich man’s instrument.”

Simon leant forwards in his seat, raising a challenging eyebrow in Baz’s direction. “Oh yeah. I forgot; that’s why I hate like violists. They’re all elitist pricks.”

“Hate is a very strong word.”

“That’s why I used it.”

“ _Really_? You hate _all_ of them?”

“Oh,” Simon smirked, “Most definitely.”

Baz slipped his hand back into Simon’s. Before the pair of them, Penny had never realised that hand-holding could become a challenge.

“That palm in your hand,” Baz began, “You know what's attached it? _Violinist fingers_.” 

That was the last straw for Niall.

Comments burst out of him before they could be swallowed back.

“All this time we’ve been sitting with them,” He inclined his head towards her, Simon and Agatha, but his eyes never left Baz's. He sounded a little frantic. “you _haven’t_ been plotting against them? Instead, you’ve been flirting with the _chosen one_? Am I getting all of this right?”

Penny saw Dev put his hand on his friend's arm.

“Niall – "

Baz cut him off.

“Yes,” He said quietly, simply. Yet you would be a fool to mistake the edge in his voice. “Got a problem with that?”

There was a moment of silence. Penny decided she didn’t give a shit about her normal stance on violence: she would punch a bitch gladly if he said a word against –

“Crowley, no.” Niall breathed out. For some reason, he looked… Relieved? “No, I had a problem with the _plotting_. Or the supposed plotting. I wasn’t going to mention this, because it makes me look as thick as pig shit in front of intelligent company-“ He, once again, nodded his head at them – “But I suppose I’ll have to now. I thought all this –“ he gestured at the little gaggle of friends they’d created, “was a ruse for the families.” At Baz’s look of disbelief, Niall rolled his eyes. “Look, nobody _told_ me what was going on – I tried to get you to tell me, ‘cuz you’d clearly told Dev, but you wouldn’t budge. I was quiet at the beginning because I didn’t know them, but recently,” He let out an awkward cough, before ploughing on with his speech “I’ve begun to like the magelings. I thought I was going to have to stage some sort of intervention to stop you screwing them over, Merlin help me. I’m such a _tosspot_.”

Penny hadn’t looked away from Niall during his entire explanation. She felt oddly touched,

Apparently, so did Simon. As a sign of goodwill (as Baz cackled beside him), he took one of the scones of his own plate and placed it down on Niall’s.

“A thanks for the planned intervention.” He said simply.

-“I mean, cheers,” Niall said awkwardly, “But there is a whole plate of these in the middle of the room. I do have legs, you know.”

Simon just shrugged.

“Wow,” Baz teased happily, “You really pulled out all the stops in that sign of gratuity, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Simon said.

Niall turned to Penny and Dev.

“They’ve been like this the whole time?”

The pair of them nodded.

“Well, damn,” He raked his hand through his ginger hair, “Everything is starting to make sense.”

***

 _Simon Snow, as the head of Watford’s science club,_ _graciously invites any person who holds_ _an interest in his subject to accompany him i_ _n the library on Saturday._ _Basilton- Grimm-Pitch, the former nemesis to the chosen one, and th_ _e man who writes this notice*, would like to assure_ _you that fake skeletons will be present, and animal dissections_ _will be taking place._

_Thank you._

_*The chosen one wasn’t chosen for his handwriting._

_(It’s chicken scratch.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit it's the end.  
> Believe it or not, this was originally intended to be a oneshot, something to distract and occupy me in my revision breaks. Instead, it grew into this 30k monster. I've loved writing it, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed reading it! Thank you so much to anyone who took the time to comment, they genuinely make my day. I expect I'll be back with another fic soon as more distraction will be needed. (Results day is soon. I do not want to think about it.)  
> Once again, thanks!


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